


The Aurora

by soriso



Series: The Princess and the Dragon [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama & Romance, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Femslash, Slow Burn, Translation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-02 10:56:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 56,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5245712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soriso/pseuds/soriso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When, if at all, she thought of Trevelyan – however rarely and reluctantly – what came to mind was the soft-faced girl she had first met in the Free Marches, not the grown woman that lay before her now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Zorza](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4325343) by [le_mru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/le_mru/pseuds/le_mru). 



> This is the third part of _The Princess and the Dragon_ series and, unlike the previous two, it takes place during DAI timeline, which means the fic will be following DAI canon, if somewhat loosely.  
>  That said, you don't really need to know what happened in the previous two parts, but do yourself a favour and read them anyway, I promise it's worth it.
> 
> ETA: as of November 2016 this part was edited for mistakes. That said, I am sure plenty of them are still in the text. Maybe in a 1000 years or so I'll finally manage to correct them all.  
> Also, to avoid possible confusion, the event at the very beginning of Dragon Age Inquisition is now being referred to as 'synod', not 'conclave'. Since I was editing, and le-mru is a big time history buff who just couldn't take it anymore, I decided I might as well change it.

Cullen was the only one among them to keep his cool when a red blast tore apart the sky.

"Isn't that exactly where the synod is?" asked Leliana. She got up and walked away from the fire.

"It would seem so." Cassandra gazed at the sky, looking to stars for confirmation, but the night was dark and cloudy. "It is hard to say. What else could it be, though? There is nothing but mountains there."

"The Most Holy," whispered Leliana. "What if it's Kirkwall all over again?"

That question was all it took for Cassandra to be reminded of the horrifying image of what was left of the Grand Cathedral. Judging by Cullen's face, suddenly paper white, his thoughts went in the same direction.

"We should go," she said, picking her saddle up from the ground. "We can get there before dawn if we―"

"I don't think it's a good idea," said Cullen. Cassandra glared at him, unaccustomed to being opposed. "Everyone is tired, it's dark and the terrain doesn't get any easier. Haven is probably half buried in snow by now."

Cassandra braced her hands on her hips. "What if something did happen there?" she asked, as Cullen shifted from one foot to the other. "We cannot just stay here."

"Even if something did happen, we will not be able to get there before dawn. And believe me, these parts are not easy to travel through even by day. I would know, I was born in these mountains."

"I stand by Curly here," said the dwarf suddenly, almost invisible beneath all the blankets and saddle-cloths. "Strange as it may seem, I really do. I didn't live through all this shit only to die in Ferelden now!"

"No one asked you," snapped Cassandra. "Leliana?"

Leliana wrapped her arms around herself. "I am inclined to agree with Cullen. We don't know the terrain half as well as he does. And if something has already happened..."

Cassandra let go of the saddle and sat back down by the fire. She was so fixated on getting to the synod and finally closing that part of her journey, she could barely stand to think that something could go wrong. Suddenly she found herself thinking of Regalyan.

"Seeker," said the Commander, taking a seat next to her. It was getting darker with every minute and the shadows made him look like a lump of fur topped with a mop of fair curls, very Fereldan. "We shouldn't worry in advance."

Cassandra's first reaction was to snap back at him, but before she did, she realised that his only intention was not to reprimand her, but to cheer her up, so she resigned herself to a nod.

She stood watch almost through the whole night, with a short break for a nap, her arms wrapped tight around herself, head hanging low. When she woke up, just before dawn, the pillar of fire gave way to an ominous, green aurora. They hit the road soon after dawn, only to finally find out that Cullen was right about both the terrain and the snow. They didn't reach Haven until evening.

"Hold!" The guards, clad in Chantry colours, stepped forward to meet them. "Who's coming?"

Cassandra loosened the snow-covered scarf she had wrapped around her face. "What happened here?" she asked. "We have been on the road for a week with no news, report, now!"

"The Temple is in ruins and almost everyone who attended is dead, my lady! No one know what's really happened, the messengers have been sent out but—"

Leliana's face was paper white. "Almost everyone?" she repeated.

"Yes, sister. Only one person has been found alive so far. A mage."

Leliana turned her head away and suddenly Cassandra could feel everyone's gaze focusing on her. She clenched her teeth, because she felt her face changing. "Take us there," she said.

The village called Haven was quite small. As it often was in such places, the biggest building was the chantry, in front of which most of the newly arrived had already set camp. The people – villagers, mostly, and some Chantry forces and sutlers – all turned their heads to them, their faces full of hope. The crowd, however, was devoid of templars, Chantry mothers and sisters, and even mages, as most of them were supposed to be in the Temple of Sacred Ashes, attending the peace talks.

The chantry was where the guardsman led them. He pushed the door open, revealing an ascetic, murky interior. A few people in Chantry frocks were already inside and tried to greet them, but Cassandra didn't pay them any attention, instead heading straight for the stairs the guardsman pointed at. Leliana was at her heels.

The holding cells were even murkier, the ceiling low. In one of them, Trevelyan lay on a straw mattress.

Cassandra stopped mid-step, her mouth wide open from shock.

"You know her?" asked Leliana, clearly astounded.

"I do." Cassandra took a step forward to make sure she wasn't just seeing things. "It's baroness... Trevelyan. From Ostwick. I..."

"That Trevelyan?" reiterated Leliana, incredulous.

Cassandra ignored her, taking a step further.

When, if at all, she thought of Trevelyan – however rarely and reluctantly – what came to mind was the soft-faced girl she had first met in the Free Marches. Now, before her lay a definitely grown woman, dressed in a light hauberk that could often be seen on mages nowadays. She was tanned, her features sharp - both telltale signs that she had been spending most of her time outdoors, worrying more often than smiling. Her hair was braided and longer than Cassandra remembered. A dash of grey could be seen at her temple.

"Is she even breathing?" Leliana sounded worried.

"She's in a deep sleep," came a gentle, soft voice, and soon the speaker emerged from one of the dark corners of the cell. He was leaning on a staff. "One that serves the purpose of regeneration and as such shouldn't be disturbed."

"And you are?" Cassandra touched the hilt of her sword. The man, who turned out to be an elf, raised his hands in a universal sign of peaceful intentions. "What is your business here?"

"My name is Solas. I study the Fade and when I... heard about what happened, I immediately rushed here. My intention is to help."

"You're an apostate."

"Every mage is an apostate now, Cassandra," said Leliana. "Could you tell us anything about what has happened here?"

"It is a tear in the Veil, a very formidable one and probably created on purpose," the man explained, his eyes never leaving Trevelyan. "At least now we know the name of our sole survivor."

"It's a surname," said Cassandra. "She does not go by her name. Only a surname."

What followed was an awkward silence. They could hear Leliana's footsteps perfectly as she approached the mattress and kneeled next to Trevelyan, whose left hand suddenly began glowing with a green light, resembling that looming over the ruins of the Temple. Trevelyan winced and frowned, as if she was in pain. The elf reacted immediately by crouching down next to her and putting a hand to her forehead. With the light gone, Trevelyan sighed, but didn't wake up.

Leliana and the elf engaged in a discussion regarding breaches, holes and mysterious lights, but Cassandra found it difficult to keep up with the conversation. She tasted bile in her mouth and had to step away. Leaning on the bars, she tried to take deep breaths to calm herself down.

"Who's in charge now?" she asked, when they were on their way out of the holding cells.

"We are... I suppose. There is a chancellor in Redcliffe we could send for. Unless someone has already."

"Good idea. The people need to see for themselves that this is not the end of the Chantry."

After a moment she realised that Leliana wasn't at her side anymore. She turned around and went back to where she was standing.

Leliana looked her right in the eye. It was difficult to keep still under her gaze. "Cassandra," she said. "It is not the end. We need to remember that."

"Well, of course." Cassandra nodded, hooking her fingers over her sword belt. "What if it is Kirkwall all over again, though? What is it's the work of the Apostate, but on a bigger scale this time?"

"Why is that? Because both times there were explosions? I do not think so... In Kirkwall they used saltpetre to create the bomb, and this one seems more... magical." She stopped and tilted her head to the side. "Unless you know something?"

"Trevelyan... she was captured in Cumberland for trying to help a certain man escape," she said, not without difficulty. "A man who later became known as the Apostate."

"And you think it's connected?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen her for thirteen years." She rubbed her forehead. "I apologise for not telling you about this sooner. I didn't think it would be relevant."

Leliana shifted from one foot to another, giving it some thought. As her work here was done, Cassandra wanted to leave, but when she turned she felt the touch of soft leather on her wrist. Leliana gave her hand a soft squeeze. "Remember what I told you," she said.

"I will. We should confer after the second bell."

Cassandra found Cullen in one of their bigger tents, busy trying to come up with a way to strengthen the encampment. "What's the situation, Commander?" she asked.

"Sadly, not good," he said, raising his head from the map he was currently studying. "The scouts report the presence of demons in the area. They say it could be an effect of the explosion and the lights."

"As if we haven't had enough to deal with," Cassandra said, leaning heavily on the table. "We certainly needed demons. Do we have people to fight them?"

"Something could be arranged. There are some brothers and sisters, as well as some other Chantry forces. A few magnates brought their own units to the synod and some of them are still here. The squires and sutlers could be provided with weapons, we could have them join the Chantry brothers... Morale has improved slightly since our arrival," said Cullen and scratched his neck. "Unfortunately it also means that the people await orders and moral support."

"I could use some of that support myself right now," murmured Cassandra under her breath. "Is there a position that should be strengthened, Commander? It would boost the people's spirits and send a clear signal that we are not afraid."

"A front camp would be useful, a first line of defence if you will, should something come down from the mountains." Cullen pointed to a spot on the map with a bridge stretching across the valley. "Here, for example."

"Very well. Let us gather five volunteers with torches and move."

Cullen reappeared after a while with templar recruits, while Cassandra was joined by the forces of Revered Mother Joanna from Cumberland. The wind was ice cold and kept blowing relentlessly; nothing, not even a suit of armour, stood in its way. Despite her best intentions to hide it, Cassandra's teeth were chattering and Cullen must have noticed it, because he doubled back to the tent and came back with a proper woollen coat.

The ascent was difficult – it had been snowing earlier that day, and when they weren't getting stuck in the fresh snow, they were instead slipping on the smooth surface of the path already trampled down by the members of the synod. The torches didn't do much to illuminate the eerie dusk that settled over the valley right below the greenish aurora of the Veil torn asunder. They stumbled upon some wraiths once they reached the frozen surface of the lake; the fight was fairly easy, but the higher they got, the more demons appeared. To make matters worse, the guardsmen claimed that they kept on coming – try as they might to kill them all, more and more emerged from numerous rifts.

The volunteers stayed back in the fortress by the bridge, set on fortifying their position, while Cassandra and Cullen began their descent back to the camp, the sound of howling wind following them all the way down. A few shades came at them at the base of the hill – Cassandra actually took pleasure in pummelling them with her sword, so concentrated on the physical effort it took that she managed to forget for a while about the Divine, Trevelyan and everything that had happened. Cullen held the line behind her; what he lacked in finesse, he made up in endurance and confidence.

Once back in the camp, she met with Leliana as promised, but nothing came out of it. For a while she walked around the dormant camp and finally retired to her tent, where the Commander was already snoring, fast asleep. She lay down on the bedding next to him but found it hard to fall asleep, thinking instead of the last summer she spent at home, of the green park and the vineyard, the lake surrounded by trees, the warm nights and all those things she and Trevelyan were doing together back then. She remembered when she kissed her hand under the plane tree as if it had been yesterday; everything that happened afterwards did not really cast any shadows on what had transpired between them at that time.

When she was just about to immerse herself in that last night they spent together in Cumberland, Cullen moaned loud enough for Cassandra to cast him a glance over her shoulder. By now she had noticed that the Commander suffered from afflictions caused by what had happened to him in Kinloch and in Kirkwall, but they seemed to be getting even worse in the vicinity of the Temple. In the faint light of the fire she could see the wetness on his cheeks, and the trembling of his shoulders. He kept murmuring something under his uneven breath. She felt sorry for him, so she rolled over and touched his elbow gently. "It's just a dream, Co... Cullen. It will go away soon and everything will be alright."

Cullen gasped and felt around blindly with his arm, finally pressing Cassandra tight against his back. She fought against his hold for a while, but relented when she noticed that his breathing went back to normal. He was very warm, too, a quality she welcomed with open arms in the cold tent they shared. It's been a very long time since she had the occasion to huddle with someone.

The next morning Cullen kept grunting and rubbing his neck, clearly embarrassed, but all it took was one cool glare from Cassandra to calm him down. It looked like Leliana hadn't slept at all, so Cassandra just grabbed a big bowl of soup and some dried Orlesian sausages and went out to look for her. The morning was bright and cool, and the fresh mountain air made it almost painful to breathe.  
Leliana bumped into her at the door, almost causing Cassandra to drop both the bowl and the sausages.

"Cassandra, she's awake! We can question her!"

Cassandra pushed her food into the hands of the closest guardsman and immediately headed for the holding cells. After a few steps and some thought she adjusted her sword belt, patted down her hair and slowed down her step to the confident gait she always used in the presence of arrogant templars.

Leliana caught up with her, her chainmail clanking. "One more thing," she said. "Promise me you will remain calm."

"Of course," said Cassandra through clenched teeth and pushed the door open with her elbow. Trevelyan, pilloried, was kneeling outside of her cell. Upon seeing Cassandra she leant forward, shocked. "C—Cassandra?"

"It's 'Seeker' now," said Cassandra, her hand coming to rest on the hilt of her sword in a meaningful gesture. She walked around Trevelyan, stopping behind her back, and bent down to her ear, breathing in the smell of healing herbs. "Tell me why we shouldn't kill you right now. The synod is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for... you."

Trevelyan gasped. "What do you mean, everyone? I know nothing about this!"

Cassandra grabbed her wrist. "Explain this."

Trevelyan's hand glowed with green light, but what burned Cassandra was a perfectly normal flame. She took a step back and shook off her hand, which was currently giving off smoke.

"Touch me like this again," said Trevelyan coldly, "and the next thing on fire won't be only your glove. I'll repeat – I don't know what that mark is, nor how I got it. I don't remember anything from the moment I arrived late—"

Cassandra moved to grab her by the collar, but Leliana stopped her. "You promised," she said, lowering Cassandra’s arms slowly. "We're here for information. Important information."

Trevelyan adopted an apologetic expression. "Cassandra," she said, her voice gentler this time. "Unchain me and let's just talk. I'll tell you everything I know. For the sake of what we once had..."

Cassandra turned her head away, feeling her willpower slowly slipping away.

"You're the Right Hand of the Divine now, aren't you?" continued Trevelyan. "It seems you have come far."

"As have you, lady Trevelyan," said Leliana. "To become First Enchanter at such young age is no small feat."

"It got much easier when mages started dying."

"Which allowed the leaders of Libertarian fractions, such as yours, to rise in the ranks."

"That was the only possible decision. What with us being Libertarians."

Leliana continued, "You are also the sole heir to the Ostwick barony, my lady."

"So I am... It happens when your whole family is killed off," said Trevelyan bitterly. "Would you like to know how my parents and sister died, Cassandra? It was templar deserters, as it turned out, who murdered them. They were convinced they had finally found one of the Libertarian leaders. They mistook Adolphine for me, would you believe that?"

Cassandra didn't even raise her gaze. "The only thing we want to know is what happened here," she said. "You are the sole survivor."

"I don't know! I can't explain that! As I said, we were late because of the thick snow in the mountain pass... And then something was chasing me and I was running... there was a woman there. She reached out her hand. I don’t know her, or that bald guy, I don't even know this redheaded lady!" Trevelyan raised her chained hands in a gesture of frustration. "Unchain me and I swear, I'll do everything I can to help you."

"It would be best to show her," said Cassandra, turning to Leliana. "The Breach."

Leliana put her hands behind her back and tilted her head to the side. "Are you sure you are up for this? We can send Cullen, he also has the proper training."

"There's no need. I'll take care of that."

"Very well." Leliana sent her a warning glance. "We'll meet in the front camp."

With Leliana gone, Cassandra kneeled down next to Trevelyan, her skin covered with goose bumps caused by the proximity of magic. She glanced at Trevelyan's face as stealthily as she could, noticing that one of her brows lost its gentle shape in favour of a faded scar, the remains of a wound dealt with a sharp instrument. Cassandra unchained her and outstretched a hand in a helpful gesture, which Trevelyan made a point of ignoring.

It would probably be easier to accept that she was a different person than thirteen years ago, if not for the hair she threw back just like the old Trevelyan used to.

"Shall we?" asked Trevelyan, blissfully unaware of Cassandra's quandaries.

Cassandra snapped out of it. "We shall," she said and pointed at the door courteously. "After you, my lady."


	2. Chapter 2

She closed the rift and fell to her knees, clutching the wrist of her left hand. Cassandra surged forward to catch her, but didn't make it in time and just froze with her arm outstretched awkwardly.

That was the last thing Trevelyan remembered from that day, and, as it turned out, a few that came after as well. Next thing she knew, she was waking up in a village called Haven, already with the title of the Herald of Andraste assigned for good. It didn't strike her as fitting, at least not until she noticed how frustrated and nonplussed it made her more devout companions. Truth be told, it was something new to her – so far she'd been spending most of her time surrounded by mages free of all conventions, including punctuality and politeness. These were the people she arrived at the synod with. Now all of them were dead.

She was also somewhat impressed by how organised, at least military-wise, Chantry people were. Among her comrades everything was thoroughly discussed and voted on first, which made the whole process incredibly long, but here everyone knew their place to the point that it wasn't unusual for some to accept orders with a certain degree of gratitude. Still, the day after the Inquisition was brought to life was spent on examining the encampment, cataloguing supplies and delegating tasks; come evening she was so tired and cold, the only thing she could think of was burying herself under some blankets, preferably by the fire. It was a good thing that Varric, a deshyr from Kirkwall whose role in the Inquisition was most puzzling, invited her to his part of the campsite. He had something stirring gently over the fire, as well as a selection of fine, warming liqueurs at the ready.

"Thank you," she said, when he handed her a bottle. The liquid sloshed around invitingly. "It didn't even cross my mind I'd be able to get a drink here."

"Right?" Varric rubbed his hands together and sat down on a stool by the fire. Despite the cold, he wore a tunic with a long cut down the front. Trevelyan suspected it was the chest hair that kept him warm. "You can never be sure with these Chantry types, right? All it takes is one minute and suddenly they won't even let you cheer yourself up a bit."

"Right," Trevelyan nodded and took a swing from the bottle. "You believe in the Stone, I take it? Forgive me if it's inappropriate to ask."

"Not at all! The Stone, however... nah, it's even more distant than that old thing." He waved his hand in the general direction of the chantry. "And you, Herald? The question, after all, is only inappropriate to ask if you don't want to answer it yourself."

Trevelyan leant forward conspiratorially. "Don't tell anyone," she said, "but I don't really believe in anything."

"Interesting," he retorted, nodding. "Ironic even. Don't tell Cassandra, because then she'll get so bent out of shape there will be no one left to order all these people around."

Cassandra herself was, of course, a completely different story. She remained focused and matter-of-fact during the battle and on the way to the Temple, and afterwards was rather cold and distant, which wasn't all that surprising considering she behaved that way towards everyone with the exception of her closest associates. It made Trevelyan a bit angry, thinking that Cassandra had put her in the same category with random crossbowmen or sutlers; truth be told, she expected some sparks, some angry snarling and stamping directed at her. Not only was Cassandra able to get a better hold of herself now, there was also something new in her, an element Trevelyan couldn’t identify. It got on her nerves.

Upon leaving the chantry right after the Inquisition's coming into being had been officially announced, Cassandra had taken her aside, her eyes fixed on the ground.

"I apologise for not saying it sooner, but I am very sorry about your family."

Trevelyan nodded, accepting the condolences. She didn't expect anything to follow, but then Cassandra raised her head and she almost had to take a step back. She had forgotten how striking Cassandra's beauty could be.

"Perhaps you'll want to know," Cassandra started, her voice strangely clipped, "that every time I fell upon a trace of such groups in the last three years, I did all I could to eliminate them."

"Good to know. Unfortunately, it was too late for my family."

Cassandra's eyes flashed.

"Some incidents could have been avoided had the war never broken out."

"Perhaps it wouldn't have if you hadn't abused your power," Trevelyan retorted calmly. "Somehow no one took interest in Calenhad or Kirkwall until it was too late. Who turned a blind eye, Seeker?"

"Don't try my patience." Cassandra took a step forward, invading Trevelyan's personal space. "It's not a very good idea."

"And you don't try to intimidate me." Trevelyan raised her head to level Cassandra's stare. "Perhaps you will want to know that you don't scare me, Cassandra. No one does anymore, that's what that vote gave me. That was its purpose – to set many people free. It's hardly my fault other people have a problem with this."

Cassandra held her gaze for a while without so much as a blink. Then she bared her teeth and walked away, stomping heavily. Trevelyan let go of the air she'd been holding in her lungs. What she said wasn't entirely true.

"I heard you and the Seeker had a fight," Varric said cunningly, doing a good job of bringing her back to their conversation by the fire. "So brave of you! I do my best not to be on her bad side ever since she put a dagger through the first edition of my best book."

"It won't go any further with her," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "No need to worry."

"The first edition." Varric made a point of repeating it, his voice rueful. "But how come, if I may ask, you know so much about the habits of our dear Seeker?"

"We've met a long time ago," said Trevelyan, aiming for nonchalant. "I could be inclined to say more if not for the fear of ending up a character in one of your masterpieces."

"Oh, it's a great distinction," said Varric. "Naturally not everyone is fit to serve as inspiration for my characters, so you never know, you may never know... Ah, I almost forgot." He went back to his tent and reappeared after a moment, holding a couple of books in his arms. "Something to help with a good night's sleep? Intrigue, crime, romance perhaps?"

"I've had enough of politics... Do you have something with ghosts in it?"

"Here's a ghost story with romance in the background." He handed her the book. Its cover featured a red-cheeked maiden fainting in the arms of a knight as they stood against a very gloomy looking castle. "It has never been widely distributed, so I'll welcome any feedback."

"I'll do my best to provide you with some. Thanks, Varric."

"You're welcome."

She returned to her wooden cabin and curled up in bed with _The White Lady of Monterrey_. Deshyr Tethras turned out to be quite a good writer, even if his descriptive abilities left something to be desired. That might have been the reason why, when that night she dreamt about being the White Lady, it wasn't a grumpy knight with a golden heart whose arms she was falling into, but a woman with short, dark hair and sharp features.

She woke up feeling so angry and helpless, she threw the poor book against the floor. She felt bad about it afterwards, so she brought it with her on the expedition to Hinterlands, which was rather wearisome despite beautiful weather. The terrain was difficult, there were a lot of bears and templars in the area, and Cassandra, full of disdain, kept looking down on everyone, apparently having reached the conclusion that Solas was at least equally as bad as Trevelyan, at the same time putting Varric down as her treacherous accomplice. It would have been difficult to endure if not for the company of the latter – his cheerful and easygoing attitude was infectious, he could talk to anyone about anything and he always had a smile for Trevelyan. She'd met such people before and was perfectly aware that their geniality often served as a smoke screen for deep melancholy. Still, without him present she would've eventually pushed Cassandra off a cliff, the hell with Inquisition.

From Hinterlands they had to travel to Val Royeaux in search of Chantry Mothers' support. Trevelyan thought it a horrible idea, especially after everything Chancellor Roderick had done, but everyone insisted on her being there in person. The meeting ended like her most attempts at negotiating with the Chantry – the Mothers completely blew her off, and, to top it all, some templar insulted her and called her names.

After such a long journey and quite disheartening lack of success on the Chantry front, the only thing left for them to do was to enjoy the many charms civilisation had to offer, and so they found themselves heading straight for the town square, to the taverns. Leliana's messenger reached them in one of them, carrying letters for the Herald and the Seeker. Trevelyan opened it quickly, scanning its contents, while Cassandra read hers carefully. A moment later they both raised their heads to look accusingly at Varric, who in turn just raised his hands.

"Seriously? You told on us?"

"I didn't have a choice! It's getting worse with every day! I can barely stand to leave my tent in the morning knowing that the only thing that awaits me are your pained expressions!"

Solas was quick to nod his head in agreement. Cassandra's face turned a dangerous shade of red.

"I am truly sorry, but I had to act," continued Varric, trying not to be too obvious about moving dishes out of Cassandra's reach. "There's still a long journey ahead of us and, you know, I've travelled a lot with many people and sometimes there were some differences of opinions, but it was never that bad. On the contrary, usually it was fun, especially when we weren't leaving civilisation so far behind, but well, sometimes you have to, and by the way that's why I even agreed to wander with you guys through Ferelden and Orlais!"

"You had no right," said Cassandra coldly, standing up from the table, "you had no right to inform Leliana about this. These are private matters to be dealt with privately."

"Not if we share the same fire!" protested Varric.

"Even then." Cassandra grabbed her travelling bag from the chair. "Don't put your nose where it doesn't belong, dwarf, or else you may lose it."

She left the tavern, the sound of angry thumping following, just when Trevelyan had finally come up with an appropriate retort. Feeling resigned, she put her cup down.

Varric turned to her. "Don't I have a point?" he asked.

"You do. I agree, it shouldn't be like this. You're not at fault here after all."

"I am glad someone has noticed," said Solas.

"Which doesn't change the fact that you could've talked to me first," finished Trevelyan. "Without getting the spymaster involved."

"I can see now that you can be reasoned with." Varric nodded. Then he looked at the door. "She can't, though."

"We'll see."

They paid for the rooms and her companions both proceeded to engage in their favourite pastime activities – that is, sleeping and writing respectively. Trevelyan left her staff and her coat with the Inquisition emblem in her quarters and headed out to the city. Even though she'd been a frequent guest in Val Royeaux, especially in the White Spire, she never had the time to do any sightseeing. The capital, peaceful and still by day, come evening became much more animated – tempting stalls stood everywhere, full of sea food, candied fruit and Orlesian delicacies she couldn't even name. All streets seemed to be leading to the cathedral district, prior to the war inhabited mostly by clergy and templars along with Chantry brothers and squires. Now some of the buildings were used for different purposes, while others had been left to fall into ruin. Even though the twin towers of the Grand Cathedral were still towering proudly over the city, the flags had been lowered halfway and the ambo in the centre of the Maferat's Square was covered with a funeral cloth.

Trevelyan was incognito; still, she didn't try entering through the gate guarded by two templars in gala armour. She just peeked through the bars and, to her surprise, saw a familiar figure crossing the empty square: it was Cassandra, assisted by three guardsmen. One of them had just tried to grab her by the elbow which almost resulted in him getting said elbow in his face. They led her through the gate and walked away in the direction of the Cathedral. Cassandra, muttering angrily under her breath, turned her back to them. When she did that, she spotted Trevelan and at first couldn't hide her surprise.

"They confiscated my equipment," she said, rearranging the travelling bag hanging on her shoulder. "Everything except what I was wearing."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine. It's just things." She sent the last hateful glare towards the templars and turned to face Trevelyan. "And you, what are you doing here? You shouldn't just wander off alone."

"They don't recognise me. Even if they did, I can take care of myself."

Cassandra began walking in the direction of the tavern. Somehow it felt natural for Trevelyan to follow her.

"I wanted to talk to you about that letter from the spymaster," she managed. "I agree that Varric made the wrong decision, but we really do have to... do something about this. We don't have to like each other. It's enough if we're just able to be in the same room together. Travel together, plan, talk."

"I completely understand," said Cassandra finally, just when Trevelyan thought she could have just as well talked to some brick wall. "Still, even with my lack of tact I sensed an accusation coming from you. Am I not correct?"

"You are. And it wasn't fair." Trevelyan had to run up to her, because, even with that bag it took Cassandra impressively little time to cross the stairs. "Please, wait a second."

Cassandra turned on her heel. "Yes?"

"I don't blame you for what happened to my family. Or anyone else for that matter," said Trevelyan, stopping at what she considered a safe distance. Ahead of them she could see the spires of the market square raising above the roofs. "I know you had nothing to do with it. I just thought... that since you knew what the Chantry stands for, you wouldn't want to become a part of it."

"I think your idea of the Chantry is limited at best."

"You think so? And yet it was you who they just saw off at that gate."

"Because of you." Cassandra was already preparing herself for a longer tirade, but Trevelyan raised her hands.

"Let me stop you. Before we escalate again."

Cassandra leant against the balustrade and sighed. "Yes," she said. "That is where this was going."

"And it was not my intention," Trevelyan reminded her. "I won't beat around the bush though. You too hold something against me and I even know what. The Redcliffe mages."

Cassandra's lips formed a thin line.

"I'm sorry, but I'll never side with the Chantry in such matters," continued Trevelyan. "Nor with the clergy, the Templars or even the Seekers. It's not just my whim. The Chantry treated me poorly, and not only me but many other people I know. I can also imagine it's hard for you to accept that I'll be calling the shots now."

"But not because it's you," said Cassandra, avoiding her gaze. "It is simply a bad decision."

"You'll have to trust me on this one."

Cassandra looked at her sceptically.

"Just this once," said Trevelyan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case anyone was wondering, the vote trevelyan mentions in the conversation with cassandra is the one that took place in andoral's reach, after the mages were forced to flee the white spire. it was there that the mages held the final vote regarding the circle's complete secession from the chantry.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you for expressing concern in your previous letter, Mom. I don't I can only wish that your misgivings were specific enough to specify whom they concern. Truth be told, we find ourselves in such an unfavourable situation that, were you here, you would be plagued with so much foreboding that we would never be able to guess what exactly it means._

_Is the baroness from Ostwick, the Herald of Andraste, the same A.P.T. Trevelyan we used to know? You would be correct in assuming that. I am unsure, however, whether you would be able to recognise her after all the time that has passed. Not to mention, it would be a challenge to tell her apart from all the mages we have been forced to interact with..._

"Mages," muttered Cassandra, dipping her quill in ink aggressively. "Come on."

Cullen raised his head from a report. "Hm?"

"Mages. Aren't there too many of them here?"

"Huh, maybe a few too many. Especially in relation to templars."

Templars irritated her as well, so she didn't agree.

"And that Tevinter!" she hissed instead. "Since when are we taking advice from a Tevinter magister?"

"I don't think he's a magister," said Cullen. "At least he insists that he shouldn't be referred to as such. 'Altus' is the correct term, I think." He stopped suddenly and added quickly, "It doesn't matter, of course."

Cassandra stood up, rubbing her cold hands together. "Tell me this, please. Do you think I am overly cautious? Is it wrong of me? Have I lost the ability to trust people? It's not a trick question, I really do want to know your opinion."

Cullen set the papers aside and straightened up, rubbing his neck awkwardly. "Is there such a thing as too much caution these days? I don't think so. There should be someone among us able to stay vigilant, someone who can judge things objectively. It is worth giving some thought to this newcomer – has he done something that casts him in a negative light?"

Cassandra just shrugged. So far she'd kept her distance from altus Pavus, as his narcissistic twaddle got on her nerves.

"I myself have heard only good things about him," said Cullen.

Cassandra started pacing around the tent. "Very well," she said. "Still, it wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on him."

"I agree. We should do that."

"Thank you for standing by me." She stopped next to him and put her hand on the fur slung over his back. "Your help is invaluable."

Cullen raised his head to look her in the eye. "T—there's no need to thank me," he said. "It's an honour."

She left him sitting there and walked over to the entrance of the tent to take a look outside. Even though it was getting late, there were still people wandering about the village, wrapped in winter coats and scarves from head to toe. Cassandra could point out those among them who were either mages or people somehow connected to the Fade; if someone asked her, she'd say there were too many of them. She could deal with Trevelyan asking the rebel mages for help, but the announcement regarding the Tevinter and his joining the Inquisition had been the last straw.

"No," Cassandra had said then, which caused everyone gathered around the war table to raise their heads. "I will not allow this."

"Excuse me?" Trevelyan asked, caught off guard.

"I won't allow it," she repeated emphatically, her arms folded across her chest."It's a disastrous idea which may as well be the bane of our whole mission."

"I don't recall asking for your opinion on this," Trevelyan said, her tone seemingly neutral. "Let alone your veto."

"Perhaps you should have."

"I'm sure we can sort it out another way," ambassador Montilyet tried to appease them. "Is that right? Let us move to my study—"

"No," Trevelyan had said, straightening slowly to her full height. "Let's hear what Cassandra has to say."

"It's a horrible idea and I can't be the only one thinking that." Cassandra looked at the faces of the council members hopefully. Leliana looked as if she was already calculating how much time her spies would need to get to Minrathous, while Cullen's expression suggested he was suffering from a bout of indigestion. "I was under the impression that we ought to protest, should a situation we consider dangerous arise. That is why I am protesting – it's dangerous, for the whole Inquisition, but particularly for the Herald of Andraste."

"I don't agree," Trevelyan protested, her eyes flashing dangerously. "As I've mentioned already, Dorian Pavus and I spent much more time together than you're aware of. He's saved my life time and again. If he wanted to hurt us, we wouldn't be standing here and talking about this because we'd have been left to rot in the dungeons of Redcliffe Castle!"

"Somehow I doubt that," Cassandra retorted, feeling the heat raise in her cheeks. "And I don't see why it shouldn't be considered."

"Because I suspect you protest just because you can."

Seeing Trevelyan's impassive face triggered a familiar emptiness in her head. There was no space left for rational thought anymore – Cassandra took a step forward towards Trevelyan and the floor beneath her iced over immediately. Reflexively, she raised her clenched fist and the magic vanished. The pressure in the room also changed. Trevelyan, angry now, shot a stream of fire in her direction; everyone ducked, Josephine squealed and jumped onto the table, sweeping the markers placed there with her skirts. Cassandra covered her face with her forearm and, teeth clenched, bound the lyrium pulsing in Trevelyan's veins. The flames disappeared and Trevelyan, hissing, doubled over, her face obscured by her hair.

"Stop that..." Cassandra outstretched her hand in a warning gesture, but then something flashed in Trevelyan's hand. Instinctively, Cassandra reached for her sword, taking it out just in time to block the blow of the lucent blade Trevelyan thrust forward.

Cassandra looked her in the face over their crossed swords. Trevelyan returned her stare, calm but challenging, one of her brows, the deformed one, raised slightly, her lips forming a thin line. They were chapped slightly from the cold.

Cassandra relented. Cullen was about to step in and disarm them anyway; the swords were sheathed, the markers re-set, clothes patted down. They were both lectured – Cassandra by Leliana and Trevelyan by Josephine, and during the next war table meeting they shook hands. Cassandra pretended it didn't move her at all, but still spent all evening venting to Cullen.

Still, she remained somewhat impressed with Trevelyan's abilities – not only did she pick up somewhere along the way how to use a spirit blade, but could also resist the binding of lyrium, both skills undoubtedly a part of magic arcana purposely kept secret by the Chantry. The reason for that was quite self-explanatory.

She remembered that Trevelyan was a quick and very adept learner, but during their time apart she didn't think of her as someone who had been changing constantly, evolving. In her memory she was still a young, gentle girl with dimples in her cheeks; Cassandra simply assumed that girl had disappeared into the maelstrom of history. After all, despite her many visits to various Circles and Colleges, she hadn't met her even once.

She closed the tent flaps and returned to her desk. The ink had already dried.

As for your question, Mom, I won't be coming home for Satinalia this year. It is not even because the roads are unsafe, but because I have been given many tasks I need to carry out. A lot of people depend on me.

Please be so kind as to give Dad my best regards. If his back still isn't better after the holidays, I will send you one of our healers.

She signed the letter and dusted it with sand.

"I'm ready," said Cullen, adjusting his fur. "Shall we?"

"Yes." She stamped the letter with her seal. "I just need to drop by the rookery. Do you have any correspondence?"

"No..." He rubbed his chin. "Remind me to write to my sister."

"She must be worried."

Cullen handed Cassandra her cloak. "Hmm?"

"Your sister. I'm sure she thinks you're lying in a ditch somewhere."

He gave her a surprised smile. The wound on his lip had healed nicely.

"Why so surprised?" she continued, putting on her gloves. "I still worry about my brother, even though he commands an area as big as Wildervale and Tantervale put together."

They started heading for the chantry, fresh snow crunching under the soles of their shoes. Even though they were already late, Cassandra took a detour to carry her letter to the rookery, while Cullen waited patiently at the door. Finally, they entered the war room. In addition to the standard members of the council, Altus Pavus and Madame de Fer were also present.

Trevelyan was looking at the map, her expression disgruntled.

"We are as prepared as we can be," she said, not even raising her eyes to greet them. "It's good of you to have joined us. We want to set the final date of closing the Breach for the day before Satinalia."

"Why that day exactly?" Cassandra asked matter-of-factly once she'd greeted everyone.

"That date is of thaumaturgic significance," said Pavus, half naked as always. She had no idea how he managed such a state of undress in this climate. "The day before Satinalia is winter solstice."

"What exactly does that mean?" asked Leliana. "Let's not forget not everyone studied the arcane."

"That is quite obvious," retorted Pavus. Cassandra raised her eyes to the metaphorical sky. "Depending on the day or the hour, some rituals have a higher chance of success than usual."

Cullen nodded his head in approval. "That makes sense," he said.

"Why wouldn't it?"

"What are the chances of success?" asked Cassandra, ignoring him and aiming her question directly at Trevelyan.

"Quite high, I'd say."

"That's it? Sixty mages, ten pounds of lyrium and they're 'quite high'?"

"It's not something you can ever be sure of," said Madame de Fer condescendingly. "Each new magic ritual is an experiment in itself and I can say with all certainty that no one has yet tried to close that Breach."

"We must hope for the best," concluded Trevelyan. "If we're all in agreement, I'd like to move on. Where are we on looking for the perpetrator of this whole affair? Any news on the Tevinter issue? Sorry, Dorian."

"Don't be. If there's something suspicious going on, I'm sure my compatriots are involved."

"We can't know that for sure," said Leliana, unrolling a piece of parchment and placing it down on the map. "Although our sources confirm that there are people going missing in Tevinter, we still don't have a clear connection to the synod and the Breach."

"If I may take a look..." said Dorian. Leliana handed him the list. "Almost everyone here is a mage, most of them magisters. Their disappearance won't go unnoticed in the Imperium. I could contact a friend in Minrathous, maybe we'll find out about something."

"Good idea. Our sources in Tevinter are quite... limited."

"It's understandable."

"If I may..." Madame de Fer took a step forward. "In my opinion we are, if you may, barking up the wrong tree here. As sure as it is that the Tevinters' conscience is not entirely clean on many matters, they do not necessarily have to be involved. I think the culpable are among us," she said and then paused for dramatic effect. "And it's the Libertarian fraternity."

"Come on!" said Trevelyan, her arms akimbo. "I'm well aware that a lot can be blamed on our fraternity, but we didn't destroy the synod. It should be enough that I myself wanted to attend the peace talks..."

"You may not have all pieces of information, Herald," said Vivienne. "Many consider you a traitor to the cause."

"That may be true, but still, what happened during the synod must've taken weeks of careful planning and the cooperation of many different people, not unlike what we're doing here. Engaging so many mages and moving so much lyrium surely wouldn't go unnoticed. Someone would hear something and I didn't, not a thing."

"Maybe it was an accident?" suggested Josephine in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood.

Cassandra waited for everyone to leave the war room so she could stay alone with Trevelyan. It took a while, because Cullen was engaged in a conversation with Altus Pavus, while Madame de Fer decided to give vent to her frustration regarding First Enchanter Fiona. Once they'd finally left the chamber, Trevelyan raised her head from the map.

"Did you stay behind to berate me for something again?"

"I did not." Cassandra leant against the table. "I just wanted to let you know you have my highest respect for the company you've managed to assemble here. As well as for the way you've managed to motivate them all to act together. That second part is even more commendable."

At first Trevelyan just frowned suspiciously, but a moment later she gave Cassandra a small smile. "Thank you."

"As promised, you have my vote of confidence."

Cassandra had a feeling she was supposed to say something more, but hadn't the slightest idea what, so she just bowed and walked away. As she was leaving the chantry, she felt a stabbing pain in her side – so strong she had to press her hand to that spot and wait for it to pass, which it did after a moment.

The attempt to close the Breach was unsuccessful. It remained unclear what was at fault there – whether it was the mages' support, the thaumaturgic logistics or even the Herald of Andraste herself. Be that as it may, the sky had closed at first, but then reopened in the form of a slit, small but visible from the ground nonetheless. Trevelyan must have missed it – she wobbled and would have fallen down if Cassandra hadn't been there to catch her.

They still celebrated Satinalia, if only to mark all the other things at which they were successful – a significant part of Ferelden remained under the Inquisition's jurisdiction and they had so many recruits lining up to join them Cullen could barely cope with training them himself. Josephine not only made good use of the resources they already had, she also sent letters to those noblemen who had a reason to feel grateful to Inquisition, where she gently suggested the best way to act on that gratitude. And so, the village of Haven celebrated with roasted pigs, Orlesian wine, various preserves from the Free Marches and many other things the mountains were usually devoid of.

Trevelyan's choice of companion for that evening was Dorian Pavus, with whom she seemed to get on really well. Cassandra stood in a corner and sipped her beer in stubborn silence, that is until Leliana came to get her to the part of the table where Josephine was entertaining everyone with anecdotes of Antivan provenance. Her mood improved considerably; at some point she even felt warmth that had little to do with all the alcohol she'd consumed. She sent Leliana a smile and the spymaster returned it.

Being in Ferelden, they decided to celebrate Satinalia in accordance with the local tradition – at midnight they raised their cups in many toasts and then, under Cullen's careful command, proceeded to light the candles. Seeing Trevelyan leave the table not a long time after her toast, Cassandra followed her without thinking. The ice-cold wind outside stopped her for a moment – a twinge of nostalgia made her go back to those hot, green summers spent in their manor near Cumberland.

Trevelyan was standing at the top of the stairs, wrapped in a warm cloak with a collar made of fur. Cassandra slowly began to walk over, clacking her heels loudly against the flagstones to let Trevelyan know she was coming. What she expected was another conversation consisting mostly of suppressed accusations, but Trevelyan had a different idea.

"I'm sorry I disappointed you, Cassandra," she said, looking straight ahead.

"You didn't." Cassandra came to a halt at her side. "It was meant to be an experiment. You warned us it could happen."

"It wasn't meant to happen though. I don't know... I'll talk to Solas. Perhaps there's something else we didn't consider. Maybe it can be fixed."

"It certainly can," Cassandra said. She must have gone soft from all the celebrations, because at that moment she wanted to comfort Trevelyan very much. After all it wouldn't hurt anyone if she were to slip an arm around her shoulders, or at least give her a pat on the back. However, before she had the chance to act on that feeling, she noticed a commotion at the post near the gate. After a short tussle a body fell down from the wall, straight into a pile of snow.

Trevelyan looked at her, eyes wide open from shock. They both turned to the chantry – Trevelyan burst into the great room to alarm everyone while Cassandra grabbed the sword and shield she had left in the foyer together with the rest of her equipment, and ran outside, leaving deep footprints in the fresh snow. When she reached the post by the gate, a man in templar armour jumped down from the wall. For the most part he was obscured by the shadow the wall cast, but Cassandra could've sworn something was wrong with him.

He came at her with a mace. Cassandra's light armour made it easy to dodge the blow and jump back, a move she repeated a few times over. Finally her opponent grew impatient and attacked her with a wide blow – she ducked, hit him with her shield and then ran her sword through his shoulder. An incoming bolt whooshed right by her ear: there was a crossbowman standing on the wall, readying his weapon for another shot. A lightning bolt struck him right before Cassandra's eyes.

"No need to thank me," said Dorian Pavus, all sparkling from electricity and trembling because of the cold. "Although I won't say no to a glass of wine at the tavern. Also, I recognise these gentlemen."

Cassandra finished the crossbowman off with her sword. "Tevinters?" she asked.

"No. Red lyrium templars." Pavus said as he approached the dead man and illuminated him with the tip of his staff. His face was red, coruscating. "They were in Redcliffe too."

They heard a scurry of footsteps coming from the top and another four men came down on them. Pavus electrocuted the first two, bringing them down to ground level, while Cassandra took care of the rest. Just as she was circling the last one, looking for an opening in his armour, a spirit blade shot right through him. He sagged and fell to his knees. Trevelyan just waved her hand, making the blade disappear.

"How many of them are there?" Cassandra gasped out.

Trevelyan had worn an intricate up-do to the celebration, now completely ruined, making her look like a crazy witch. "They attacked every post at the same time," she said. "A hundred, maybe more, hard to say. And they have the element of surprise on their side."

"Even in Tevinter you don't attack on Satinalia," added Pavus.

A giant shadow came upon them. Cassandra didn't even need to raise her head to know what cast it. Still, she wanted to know exactly what they were dealing with.

"They have a dragon." Pavus sounded worried.

"A high dragon, actually," Cassandra corrected him, her brow furrowed. The moon did little to illuminate the creature. "That changes things. We must lead everyone into the mountains. The way through the tunnels under the chantry will be best, it'll look as if we have barricaded ourselves inside."

Both mages gave her a surprised look, as if they couldn't believe she was talking them into fleeing. Behind their backs she could see people running out of the chantry, as well as the thatched roof of the tavern on fire.

"There's no time to waste!" she yelled, waving her hands at them. "Go back this instant, I'll let the Commander know!"

She ran up to the ladder, casting them a look over her shoulder – much to her satisfaction, they were running in the opposite direction. In the meantime, the dragon circled around the valley and came back. She was black and enormous; if Cassandra didn't know better, she'd say it was the archdemon, not just a high dragon. When she climbed to the top of the wall, the dragon was already flying over the village, breathing fire at the smithy which immediately went up in flames. The people kept running out of their huts and tents in panic, making easy targets of themselves. Suddenly Cassandra thought of the dragon she had fought in Val Royeaux, many years ago. She spared one final glance at the village they'd been living in and got down to business.

After that she didn't see Trevelyan at all. For a long time she fought alongside the Inquisition's templars and was one of the last people to take cover in the chantry before the dragon's fire completely destroyed it. There was an improvised encampment at the slope of the mountain; when she finally reached it with Cullen's rearguard, she was chilled to the bone and exhausted from navigating the labyrinth of peasant huts.

Trevelyan was nowhere to be seen.

"I thought she was with you," said Leliana, her voice trembling. They had gathered in a temporary command tent.

"So?" asked Cassandra, her tone seemingly neutral. "No one has seen her?"

"I could've sworn I saw her in that tunnel," said Josephine. "But it must've been someone else... There's so many mages here..."

"She's not here," Pavus clutched his head in disbelief. "We split up, she was supposed to join you!"

"Did you see her?" Cassandra turned to Cullen, who leant heavily against the stone wall. "We looked for survivors!"

"I didn't." Cullen's face was beginning to look a lot like the snow that surrounded them. "I could swear I didn't."

Cassandra shook her head and reached for the cloak she had just taken off.

Immediately, Leliana was in her way. "Where do you think you're going?" she asked. "You're barely standing, you look like death warmed over! Let's wait and rest a little, then we can send someone to conduct the search..."

"The snow will have almost covered the tracks by now. If it was me alone out there, I wouldn't know where to go now. We cannot leave her alone."

"As much as I already adore this warm fire and despise agreeing with anyone, the Seeker is in the right here," Pavus agreed with Cassandra, rubbing his cold arms for warmth. "We must look for the Herald now, right away!"

"We should gather volunteers," added Cullen. "No one unwilling should be forced to move out in such weather."

They managed to put together five groups of two to three volunteers. Cassandra was teamed up with a young recruit who quickly fell behind once the road began to go up the slope again. Having left the line of the trees far behind her, she could still see him, wading laboriously through heavy snow with nothing but the weak light of the torch he was carrying. She herself was beginning to find it more and more difficult to keep moving; just when she was about to lose all hope, she stumbled upon the remains of the fire the first escapees had built. There, a couple of feet away, someone was standing in the dark – a blurred outline of a person. Cassandra reached for her sword as she approached it cautiously, but sheathed it when she was close enough to recognise the figure: it was Trevelyan, wobbling unsteadily on her feet. She took the last few steps and fell to her knees in the snow.

"Trevelyan!" Cassandra darted forward. "I'm here!"

Trevelyan collapsed on her side. Cassandra kneeled next to her, wiping away the melting snow from her face and hair. She was pale with some red frostbite blotches here and there, her armour and cloak singed. Other than that, she seemed fine.

Cassandra slapped Trevelyan's cheek gently, unsuccessful in her attempt to wake her up. With a sigh she put her shield on the ground, grabbed Trevelyan's hand and slipped one arm between her legs, hoisting the woman up on her shoulders. With a deep breath she stood up and slowly began moving in the direction of the camp, Trevelyan heavy in her arms. The road ahead was long and the snow kept on falling.


	4. Chapter 4

"What are we going to do about this?" Trevelyan asked, her voice heavy with despair.

Josephine must have missed the fact that the question was meant to be rhetorical and looked over the chamber at the top of the tower with an appraising eye. "This room isn't that bad. We'll get rid of this old wormy furniture, put in a new lounge suite, a bed, a desk, a bookshelf and voilá! We'll have the draperies beaten, buy one or two hunting trophies... unless Your Worship doesn't like those..."

Trevelyan sat down on a pouf, which let out a cloud of dust, and clutched her head with her hands.

"The view is marvellous," Cullen informed them, returning from the balcony. "I wouldn't mind a room in one of these towers, too."

"It is, isn't it?" Josephine sounded animated. "And this glasswork! Everything's a bit dirty, I'll grant you that, but spending the night here is definitely within the realm of possibility. I'd gladly move here myself if it weren't for the fact that the Inquisitor should occupy these quarters. For prestigious reasons, if nothing else."

"Trevelyan?" Cullen asked, worried. "Is everything alright?"

"It is, it is. I was just a bit overwhelmed for a moment," admitted Trevelyan.

"But you fought a dragon!" Josephine crouched down next to her. "That's something! This is just logistics."

"To say I 'fought' it would be an exaggeration. 'I knew how not to die right away' sounds more like it."

"With such a beast it's already admirable," said Cassandra, emerging from behind the broken bed. Everyone jumped. "What? There's a dressing room at the back, didn't you know?"

"No," Josephine shook her head. "But see? This place is full of surprises. Now the only thing we have to do is check what else it has to offer and then we'll be good to go."

Regardless of whether it was an honest display of optimism or just the ambassador putting on a brave face for their benefit, Trevelyan felt her spirits rise. Josephine and Cullen, discussing the availability of other quarters, were the first to leave the room, while Cassandra waited for her by the stairs.

"I'm glad you remembered something from our endless conversations about useful techniques of fighting draconides," she said, dusting herself off nonchalantly.

"What? Ah, this. You'd be surprised to know how many times it came in handy."

"It is, indeed, surprising," Cassandra said, allowing her through the door first. Trevelyan had to hold her breath when their shoulders brushed. She didn't remember much from the escape from Haven, because she fainted dramatically just as she was being rescued; she was told though that Cassandra not only found her in the middle of the snowstorm, but also carried her up the mountain to the temporary camp herself. If the stories were to be believed, she looked like an ice demon and the guardsmen were scared witless when she appeared before them. As for the story itself, it circulated intensely among the Inquisition's members.

Trevelyan, for her part, was no longer unmoved by Cassandra's presence – small things, such as Cassandra's determined gait or a strand of dark hair on the neck excited her. She wondered sometimes whether the memories they shared were still vivid for Cassandra, or if someone with a more serious title and greater control over their own life managed to replace them, but somehow she couldn't imagine Cassandra getting involved with some Chantry brother. Trevelyan herself, once back to her life in confinement, joined the group of lechers that always operated on the margin of every Circle, but, after a while, brief encounters in broom closets started to bore her. Even though it was clear that no one there was looking for love, Trevelyan finally realised that she was, in fact, looking for someone else in every single person she'd had sex with. Ultimately, she deemed it futile and unfair.

Josephine got her way and after a day spent on stocktaking and inspecting all the dust-covered chambers Trevelyan went to bed in the room atop the tower. At first, all she wanted was to climb inside her sleeping bag and let the tears wash out all the failures they'd endured, but somehow it felt off. She lay there with one eye open for an hour and finally jumped out of her bedroll to cast a protective glyph around her bedroll.

"I hope it's not personal," said someone from the staircase. The whites of their eyes flashed in the dark.

"Varric!" Trevelyan clutched at her heart. "You walk as quietly as a cat!"

"Only on stone, everywhere else I thump like an ogre."

"You have a point. Welcome to my humble, if slightly creepy, abode."

"That's why I wanted to pay you a visit in the first place," Varric said, as he sat at the edge of the straw mattress. "How do you find _Hard in Hightown_?"

"I didn't even have the strength to open it yet, forgive me."

"That's okay."

They sat like that for a while, in friendly silence, Varric breathing loudly, clearly tired because of the long walk up the stairs.

"Can I ask you a question, Varric?"

"Shoot."

"What is Hawke like?"

"I thought you were familiar with _The Tale of the Champion_ ," he said. When nothing but more silence followed, he added, "Brave, that's what she's like. She always gets by. I really admire her."

"I was under the impression though that you don't support our cause. After reading the book."

She heard a rustling sound. Varric must have turned around.

"Why do you think so?"

"I read between the lines. For instance, you're not the greatest fan of Anders, who also happens to be my friend."

"Well, no one likes it when someone goes and ruins their beloved city, now do they?"

Trevelyan covered her mouth with her hand to stop herself from coming up with another blunder. "I didn't think. Of course."

"It's nothing. But since we've reached the awkward part of the conversation, what's gotten into you and the Seeker recently?"

"What do you mean? We're fine," she said, the soles of her feet shuffling against the floor. Varric remained silent, ever the expectant diplomat. "You could say it's because of our ideological differences."

"Which are? Sorry for inquiring, but it seems to be the nightly hour of truth."

"Yeah, it seems so," she said and laughed. "Cassandra... she thinks everything can be saved. That is, the Chantry and the Orders, that you can reform them from the inside, repair the situation, introduce smart leaders. I don't think that's possible. We have to start from the beginning, otherwise there will always be someone disadvantaged. Too many people are excluded now."

"You're an idealist," Varric summed up.

"I don't agree. More of a realist, really, because of everything that I've been through. It's Cassandra who's an idealist – values, principles, rules... That's her world."

"That's very interesting. Don't get me wrong, I'm Andrastian myself, but I don't know the Chantry nearly well enough to assess it like that."

"But you do know Hawke," Trevelyan shoot back.

"I do," agreed Varric. Then he heaved a deep sigh. "I think I know where you're going with this."

"We could really use her help. If you don't trust me, give her my name, she'll know who I am. We were supposed to meet a year ago, but it didn't work out, it was too dangerous... Could you at least let her know?"

Varric stroked the part of his face where normally he'd have a beard. "I'll see what I can do," he said. "Okay? I'll see."

She didn't feel like crying anymore when he left. She curled up inside her sleeping bag and promptly fell asleep, only to wake up the next morning feeling fresh and energised, even despite the water in her basin being completely frozen. Luckily she didn't have much time to spent on worrying – once they had managed to relatively clean up Skyhold, they had to set off for Crestwood. Varric gave up his spot in the expedition in favour of Sera, claiming that he disliked nature, especially one that was rainy. For Trevelyan, however, it wasn't an option. Waddling through mud in yet another Crestwood cave, she was sure that's why they proclaimed her the Inquisitor – so that she would go everywhere without complaining. The originator of this idea must have been the ever cunning Leliana, because Cassandra, her expression stern, waddled through the same mud right next to Trevelyan. The nature of their mutual encounters stopped being aggressive – even though Cassandra accompanied her in everything she was doing, she did so in stoic, unprovocative silence.

The situation changed completely a few days after their return. Trevelyan was just in the process of inspecting their military forces, together with the proud yet pale-looking Cullen and hawk-eyed Cassandra. Having seen several identically looking encampments already, she was just about to suggest to the Commander that she simply wasn't able to contain her excitement anymore, when she realised that Cullen had stayed behind.

"Commander?" she asked, turning around. Cullen was standing on the side of the main road leading to the hold.

"What's going on?" Cassandra sounded irritated.

Without a word Cullen pointed his finger in the direction of three incoming riders. They were all dressed in winter clothes, but upon seeing them, the first traveller took off their hood. A head of dark hair and a distinctive red mark on their nose emerged from beneath it.

Cassandra inhaled sharply. Then she stamped her foot down on the ground. "I'll kill him! Sweet Andraste, as soon as I get my hands on that dwarf..."

"Hawke?" asked Cullen, disbelieving. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to help you get things sorted out, why?" Hawke said merrily, as she squeezed Cullen's outstretched hand, still seated in the saddle. "Is that the illustrious Inquisitor Trevelyan?"

Trevelyan came closer, her legs stiff. To her, Hawke seemed bigger than giants, even though, judging by the length of her stirrups, she couldn't be much taller than Trevelyan herself was.

"Hawke, it's an honour."

"More like high time, Trevelyan," said Hawke, as she looked around the camp. Her eyes stopped wandering once she reached the hold towering over them. "How about we continue this elsewhere, hm? When Varric told me what exactly you're dealing with, I had no choice but to bring our Veil specialist and..."

Cassandra, who had already surreptitiously approached the riders from behind, had just discovered who it was that came with Hawke.

"No, Trevelyan," she said coldly. "We shouldn't even let them into the courtyard."

"They came to help us," protested Trevelyan, well aware of the bystanders gathering around them. "The least you can do is listen to them. Please, follow me."

Because of that a meeting had been organised, involving the Inquisition's council as well as the newcomers. Hawke's guard, a tattooed elf with a greatsword strapped to his back, took watch by the door, his eyes never leaving the people she was greeting. When Trevelyan approached him, he just nodded and said one word – his name. The rumours had it he served Hawke with more than just his sword.

The third traveller stood alone at the other end of the table, humbly accepting indiscreet glances and whispers. Trevelyan felt sorry for him – he looked older and sadder than the last time she saw him.

"Hello, Anders," she said as she stopped next to him to lessen the impression of isolation. "Who would've thought."

"Trevelyan," he smiled, grateful. "I've heard you moved up in the world."

"Someone taught me to fight when I can and run when I can't. A good strategy, as it later turned out."

"Let's get back to the point," said Cassandra, her loud voice carrying. "Which is the reason why we should welcome the Apostate here."

"Anders isn't only a Grey Warden, he also knows a lot about the Veil," said Hawke, leaning against the wall nonchalantly, a pose that surely got on Cassandra's nerves. "I am confident he'll be able to close the Breach. We've been dealing with—"

"I'm sorry to interrupt but we, too, have a Veil expert here," said Cullen. "And his help wasn't that useful."

"Clearly ours is better," muttered the elf.

"Fenris," Hawke said pointedly. "If nothing else, they can work together."

"I think the main difference is that yours is an abomination," said Cassandra, her voice hard. Josephine covered her mouth with her hand, while Leliana looked puzzled. "Your lack of protest only confirms that the accusation is justified."

"I'd argue as to terminology," said Hawke lightly, a hint of steel flashing in her eyes. "Anders is a man who welcomed a spirit into his body. Said spirit is neither good nor bad, like most people. But yes, he does come from beyond the Veil, so he knows more about the Fade than any mortal man ever could."

"Did you know about that, Commander?" asked Cassandra accusingly.

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, clearly nonplussed. "I wasn’t aware of that, no."

"I know it's not easy for you to acknowledge, Cassandra," said Trevelyan, "but Anders will be staying here, for a while at least. And he _will_ help us close the Breach. A mission I, as you recall, failed to accomplish."

"I appreciate that, but what about the other matter? The arrest warrant issued for this man is not without reason. He has the blood of many people on his hands."

"That is true," said Anders. "That's why I'd like to be subject to punishment."

"Anders..." Hawke pushed herself away from the wall, her armour clanking.

"They're right, I'm guilty," he said. He straightened, revealing how tall he really was. Trevelyan's head reached his shoulder, at most. "I'd like to redeem myself."

"I'm afraid a court of law would be in order," said Josephine. "If only for representative reasons. We cannot give our enemies any advantage over us. However, if the Inquisitor were to be merciful..."

"I wouldn’t want to further fuel the flames..." Anders said, doing exactly that, "but Commander Cullen, who is here today, had served under Mad Meredith for ten years. I don't have anything against you personally, Cullen, believe me, but it looks like they gave you a chance for redemption without chaining you up and all that?"

"It's a long process," said Cullen, all red from embarrassment, "but yes, I was given a chance."

Cassandra braced herself on the table, her position clearly meant to be threatening. "When you were in such a hurry to run from Kirkwall," she started, "Cullen struggled for three years to rebuild what had been destroyed in the matter of days. When we got there, he was shuffling through rubble with his bare hands."

"That's true," said Trevelyan. "But each and every one of us has something to answer for, isn't that right? And that is not why the Inquisition was created, for us to judge each other."

"Beautiful words," said Leliana. "But experience teaches us that sometimes reality is different."

"Do what you must," Hawke said as she raised her hands in a defensive gesture. "Judge, don't judge, punish, don't punish... But remember, I'm not here only as your friend. I also want to finish this Maker forsaken war. It's taken its toll already."

Trevelyan nodded, looking at the other members of the council. Everyone seemed to agree. Except Cassandra, who stood with her eyes fixed on Hawke, her jaw set.

"In my opinion there is one more thing left to do here," she said, approaching Anders slowly. Trevelyan saw Hawke's hand twitch, but not clench. "Not everyone here is familiar with the Seekers of Truth. That name is not accidental – we can tell if someone is speaking the truth." She stopped in front of him, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. "Tell me this then, Apostate: do you regret the dreadful consequences of your actions in Kirkwall?"

"I do." Anders stood calm under her scrutinising gaze. For a moment there he seemed surrounded by a blue glow and out of the corner of her eye Trevelyan saw the elf's tattoos lightening up.

"Can you also swear," Cassandra continued, "that you had nothing to do with the explosion at the Conclave?"

"I was under impression that has been already confirmed," said Leliana.

"I'm just checking," Cassandra said innocently.

"Of course I didn't," said Anders. "You have our condolences for the loss you've endured there."

Leliana smiled under her cowl. The tension in the room disappeared and relieved sighs could be heard.

"I think we've had enough of this," said Josephine, as always ready to step in at the right time. "Perhaps I should start thinking of appropriate accommodation for our guests? The journey must've tired them. Which side would you prefer, the one with the courtyard or the mountain view?" she asked, aiming her question at Hawke, who seemed somewhat confused by the sudden change of mood.

When everyone had finally left the war room, Trevelyan braced herself on the table, first only on her hands, then on her elbows, and finally leaning her forehead against it.

"Sweet Andraste."

"Knock, knock. Am I interrupting something?"

It was Dorian Pavus, who had recently developed a habit of hanging around the war room, waiting for the meeting to be over.

"You aren't. I'm sorry, I completely forgot I was supposed to visit you in the library."

"It's nothing, my ego will be fine by tomorrow," he said and leant against the door frame. "But tell me, please, who are these people with oh-so-questionable taste in apparel?"

"It's a long story." Trevelyan straightened up and brushed down her hair. "Perhaps one I shouldn't tell you, as to avoid possible prejudice you might have. How about that? And after a couple of days you can tell me what you think about them. Just please, don't focus solely on their clothing."

"I know, I know. We're in Ferelden, it's winter, et cetera."

"Exactly."

They started off towards the great hall and from there went up the stairs to the library. There was a window in the corner Dorian chose as his study – from there, they could see Cassandra stomping angrily across the courtyard, mages and guardsmen scattering out of her way.

The trial of Anders of Anderfels went well, despite being interrupted by a messenger from some Marcher prince, demanding that the Inquisition hand over the Apostate for execution. A few outraged letters came from the more conservative Revered Mothers as well. Trevelyan sentenced Anders to _pro bono_ work in Skyhold's field hospital, as well as others belonging to the Inquisition, should a need arise. Anders tried his best not to look happy about that development, while Hawke stood there with a funny expression, as if she didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

The least satisfied by this course of events was, of course, Cassandra. At the end of their another expedition to Crestwood she took a hard beating from the red templars, but wouldn't let anyone patch her up. Once they returned, she spent the whole day walking around the hold carrying herself stiffly; in the war room she also stood with her arm pressed tightly against her torso.

No one dared to comment on the subject at first, but finally Leliana gave up and asked, "What is the matter, Cassandra? Didn't you see the healer yesterday?"

"No," growled Cassandra, trying to straighten her arm. "I'm alright."

"It's probably just a sprain," added Cullen quietly. "It happened to me once or twice too. On its own it takes some time to heal, but the healers deal with it right away."

"It is nothing some rest won't take care of. Can you get off my back?"

Trevelyan sighed heavily. "Please, come see me after this meeting. It won't take long."

In the great hall there was Dorian Pavus, smiling slyly and waiting for Cullen. Leliana gave Josephine a knowing look upon seeing him. Trevelyan closed the door once everyone left and put the papers under her arm. Cassandra, leaning against the wall and looking offended, was waiting for her outside.

"Let's go."

"Can't we do this here?"

"No," said Trevelyan as she pointed the way to her quarters. "You need to lie down."

"Then excuse me." She pushed herself off the wall. "I'll go to the surgeon."

"The surgeon will cut off your arm and how are you going to pummel the dummies then?"

Cassandra clenched her teeth and turned back, this time heading for the correct door. They climbed the stairs leading to the second floor in ice-cold silence. Trevelyan unlocked her quarters, let Cassandra in and placed the documents she was carrying on the desk.

"Take off your clothes and lie down, please," she said, taking the books off of the chaise longue and pushing it to the centre of the room. "Do you need help?"

Cassandra was already taking off her surcoat with one hand. "No, that won't be necessary."

Trevelyan decided to leave her be for now, even though she knew perfectly well Cassandra's self-reliance would end upon reaching her chainmail. When she returned with olive and a basin, Cassandra was struggling with that exact part of armour. Trevelyan helped her get it off, trying not to rip out too much hair in the process, and then, ignoring Cassandra's disgruntled puffing, helped her with the gambeson and the shirt. All that was left underneath was just a breast band, so Cassandra, with as much dignity as she could muster, lay down on the chaise longue. Upon seeing her shoulders Trevelyan felt a little flustered, even though she had patched up many people during the war. Cassandra was always fit and muscular, but years of swordsmanship had strengthened and toned her muscles to a statue-like shape.

"Alright, relax a little." Trevelyan washed her hands and sat down at the edge of the chaise longue. "You know how it's done."

Cassandra just muttered something incorrigible in response. Trevelyan rubbed some olive into her hands and moved them down along her spine, looking for the strained spot. She found a large number of old wounds – including a few that hadn't been healed properly – as well as a painful spot in the muscle connecting the upper arm to the shoulder blade and got down to fixing the tissue. Cassandra inhaled sharply through her teeth.

"Does it hurt?"

"No, no. It's fine. Go on, Trevelyan."

"That one's done. Turn to your side now..."

The muscles flexed. Next she saw Cassandra's stubborn profile, her closed, dark-rimmed eye. She looked as if she was asleep and Trevelyan caught herself feeling somewhat tender. Sitting there, touching Cassandra's warm skin covered in a net of scars made her realise how easy it would be to come closer, to put her nose to that spot between Cassandra's shoulder and neck, to inhale deeply. Then she would turn her around and start doing all those libidinous, magnificent things no one in the world ever suspected Cassandra of doing. It would be so very easy, and yet so completely wrong.

Trevelyan drew her hands back and stood up. "It's done," she said. "How is your arm? Does it still hurt?"

Cassandra sat up and took a few swings, which she summed up with a satisfied nod. "As good as new. Thank you very much, Trevelyan."

"At your service. I think your health is more important than whatever... concerns you might have had."

"I wouldn't call them concerns," said Cassandra, putting her clothes back on. "My goal was to avoid an awkward situation."

"And was it? Awkward?" Trevelyan dipped her hands in the basin. Olive floated on the surface in the form of greasy circles.

"Not as much as it could have been," said Cassandra, the tone of her voice a familiar mixture of straightforwardness and erotic suggestion.

Later that night Trevelyan couldn't sleep. She lay there in her big bed, furious, aware that she would spent the next day sleep deprived and transfixed with everything that did not come to be.


	5. Chapter 5

She awoke suddenly, tangled in bed sheets. Trevelyan lay within her arm's reach, eyes moving under the closed lids a sure sign that she was still asleep. Rain was pattering against the roof of the tower.

Cassandra put her hand to her forehead. She wasn't surprised she had ended up here. She was, however, angry that she allowed herself to spent the whole night in someone else's bed.

She threw aside the sheets and got up. Outside, night was ever so slowly giving way to a rainy dawn, so it took her a while to find her clothes in the dark. Finally, she grabbed her boots and ran down the stairs to finish getting dressed by the door, but then something dawned on her – her sword, she had it when she came here, and now it wasn't at her side. She put on her breeches and shirt, then ran back upstairs, barefoot. The sword belt was lying next to the desk. She tiptoed there cautiously, her eyes never leaving the still figure on the bed. She grabbed the sword and backed away, fastening the belt around her hips.

Free at last. She ran lightly down the stairs, but stopped at the door leading to the great hall, where she turned and went back to the landing leading to the battlements. She pushed the door open with her shoulder, and, unbothered by rain, started heading towards the tower inhabited by Cullen. Halfway there she noticed a commotion at his door – and a moment later a hunched figure emerged from behind it. The figure turned around, absorbed by readjusting their extravagant robes, and their eyes met.

It was Dorian Pavus.

Cassandra couldn't afford to panic; besides, she didn't do anything wrong, did she? She was just on her way to her morning workout, inspecting the grounds at dawn, keeping vigilant. Not that she had anywhere to run, anyway – the only stairs leading to the courtyard were next to the tower. What kind of fool designed this place that way?

"Dorian," she said, forcing a smile when she was close enough to take a good look at his unstyled moustache and ruffled hair.

"Cassandra." He knew that she knew, and he just stroked his moustache. "You truly are a sight to behold at this rainy dawn."

"I wish the same could be said about you," Cassandra shot back. "Something kept you up at night?"

Pavus narrowed his eyes slyly, but before he could come up with an appropriate retort, Cassandra passed by him with dignity and took the stairs. Still in a good mood, she dropped by her room to get a change of clothes and went to the garden, where Fenris, as usual this time of day, did his workout.

They greeted each other and a few monosyllables later they were training together in friendly silence, which had Cassandra thinking back to the day they had met properly in the tavern. She was guided there by her unhealthy curiosity towards Hawke, of course, and before she knew it, it was two in the morning and she was still there, sat between Bull and Cullen, talking about Kirkwall. Everyone thought there was something wrong with that city and Hawke tried to explain the reason behind that, which naturally led them to discussing the limits of magic. Cassandra didn't think herself an appropriate person to partake in such a debate, so she left them in order to get a beer, and when she was waiting for the bartender to come out with a new cask, Hawke's mysterious companion – a slender, dusky-skinned elf covered in tattoos – joined her. It soon turned out that Fenris also wasn't fond of Anders, Tevinter and people who talked too much, preferring swords and silence instead. Together, they had been thick as thieves ever since.

At the end of the night they bumped into Pavus, who was well past the point of sobriety by then, and a minor quarrel on the topic of slavery ensued. Hawke dealt with it as effortlessly as ever – she summoned a tavern wench and made a point of ordering a pint. When the pint was delivered, she took a coin out of her pocket and handed it to the girl, all the time keeping her challenging gaze fixed on Dorian.

"Are you seeing this? Are you writing it down? I asked for something and I received it – it's called a service. A service is something you pay for."

Everyone, save for Pavus, burst out laughing at that. The slavery discussion was deemed finished, and Cassandra devoted herself to re-living her childlike fascination with the Champion of Kirkwall.

After the exhausting workout, Cassandra and Fenris went to the steam room: as per Fereldan way, it was customary to relax in the hot spring coming from beneath the mountain, with a short break now and then to wash yourself off with cold water. Cassandra had been going easy on that last part recently, secretly still mentally recovering from the last expedition to Crestwood. Chantry relics they needed to get into the Revered Mothers' good graces were conveniently located on a little island in the middle of a tarn, and when they reached its shore, everyone's eyes automatically turned to Cassandra. She dressed down to her undergarments – intent on not displaying her naked arse in front of Varric – and jumped into the water off a rock. The water in the tarn was so cold, at first she was barely able to breathe from shock. Her mean companions were cheering for her from the shore as she swam steadily, just like she used to back home, to the island and back. When she reached the shore, Trevelyan gave her a hand and grabbed her by the shoulders, her hands hot with wonderful, wonderful warmth.

"Thank you," Trevelyan said later, when they were washing the dishes after the meal. "If it weren't for you, we wouldn't have these relics."

"If it weren't for you, I'd have pneumonia," Cassandra responded. "But we could have drawn lots. I'd love to see the dwarf swim."

Trevelyan giggled, even though Cassandra was perfectly aware that Varric had somehow managed to charm her with his undoubtedly unique personality. Truth be told, he was of some use to them after all, and it wasn't like Cassandra could be picky about this, considering the many challenges that still lay before them.

"You know what," Trevelyan said suddenly, putting the pots aside. "I know we weren't supposed to talk about it, let bygones be bygones and all that, but there is one thing I've been meaning to ask you."

"Yes?" Cassandra wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, unaware of the incoming blow. "Ask away."

"Back then... all these years ago. Why didn't you look for me?"

For a moment there she was rendered speechless. She looked at Trevelyan with disbelief, images flashing before her eyes: all the Circles she had travelled to, all the pathetic letters she had sent to numerous Chantry officials, all the humiliating conversations, requests and threats, dull faces of the templars she'd talked to, lonely nights spent by country roads when the memories had still been fresh, and the air hot. Naturally Trevelyan couldn't know how extensive her search was, but it was a long way from that to assuming that Cassandra didn't look for her at all.

"Cassandra? I didn't mean to offend you," Trevelyan added, even though that was clearly exactly what she meant to do.

"I couldn't find you anywhere." Cassandra whammed a dirty bowl against a rock. "I found out later that you'd been sent to one of the secret templar outposts."

"Not far from here, actually," Trevelyan said after a moment of intense silence. "I spent two years there. They tried to re-educate me. When I got out, you were already part of the Chantry."

"I suppose I was."

If Trevelyan expected Cassandra to continue the conversation, she was deeply mistaken. Suddenly angry, Cassandra put the remaining dirty mugs in the water and turned her head away.

"You know." Either Trevelyan didn't see these signs or she chose to ignore them. "When I got out, I fantasised about the princess on a white horse coming to save me. I dreamt about you entering the courtyard in that fancy armour of yours, thinking how everyone would go white in the face upon seeing you, even though I already knew back then that even the Pentaghasts didn't like to mess with the Chantry. But then I realised I couldn't just let myself be saved over and over again. Even by you. That... in order to be a free person, an independent one, I needed to save myself."

Cassandra clenched her teeth and refrained from saying anything. She spent the rest of the day riding in stubborn silence, completely ignoring Blackwall's twaddle. She was slowly beginning to realise that Trevelyan had a point, but it wasn't really enough to change what she'd felt on that matter for many years now.

Once back in Skyhold, they tried to close the Breach again and that time they were successful: the Herald of Andraste, or, to be more precise, the mark on her hand along with the Apostate, or, to be more precise, the spirit of justice inhabiting his body, managed to merge the edges of the rift – this time for good. The sky above the hold was no longer illuminated with a green light and wandering shadows were no longer to be found in the valley. A big feast was thrown to celebrate: before she knew it, Cassandra was drunk on Nevarran dry wine, observing Cullen's awkward advances towards Pavus with a sullen expression. At least she finally realised who it was that Cullen reminded her of – her squire Sigismund. That, in turn, led to another realisation – that it had been Anthony himself Sigismund had had a crush on for such a long time. Proof enough that it sometimes took Cassandra a long time to fully comprehend some things.

When the feast, slowly coming to an end, changed into a recital of Fereldan songs, she hid in the library with Fenris.

"I can’t remember the last time I was so drunk," Cassandra admitted. "It's been years. The last time was with Leliana in the baths, in Ausburg."

"I cannot say the same," Fenris said, sounding surprisingly sober. "What is keeping you at the bottle today, if I may ask? You do not look like someone who normally values its company."

"You're right, I don't. Usually I can't allow myself an addled mind." She leant against a pile of thaumaturgic tomes. "I'll admit, albeit with some embarrassment, that I have been dwelling on the past."

"This is not the path you want to take." Fenris took a swing from the bottle. "Believe me. I have wasted so much time on this once... It can destroy you."

"It is yet another thing I don't usually do."

Fenris glanced at her askance. His eyes reflected light in a cat-like fashion and she almost shivered. Well, someone who could rip a beating heart out of a person's chest must have had a lot of regrets in life.

She was just thinking about what to say when footsteps sounded on the stairs. A moment later Hawke, in all her glory, appeared in front of them. Cassandra averted her gaze, which allowed her to observe the way Fenris' face and body language changed in Hawke's presence.

They left the library together, and some time later Leliana came to collect Cassandra.

Two days later, an expedition to the Western Approach headed out, but Cassandra stayed back in the hold to supervise the repairs and the negotiations with the Revered Mothers. The decision was as much hers as the Inquisitor's – Cassandra was being affected by all kinds of feelings in Trevelyan's company, ranging from excitement to agitation, and needed some time to herself to analyse all the signals she'd been receiving. She was never one of those people who believed in definitive acts or fate, but at the same time she was no longer able to keep herself from thinking of Trevelyan as some kind of prerequisite in her life. She decided to subject herself to a test: she cleansed her mind completely and busied herself with her responsibilities. She spent quite a lot of time supervising the workers and meeting with the Revered Mothers, but just one letter from her parents was enough to make her blood boil. _Will the situation with baroness Trevelyan repeat itself, Cassandra?_

 _Will the situation repeat itself?_ The only way for something to _repeat itself_ was for it to start and end, and this one could not repeat itself because it had never stopped happening. She threw the letter onto her desk and went out onto the battlements, grasping blindly for the walls, gasping as if she had just come back from a run. The world outside was running its course: the snow melting, the streams flowing, the surface of water reflecting mountain tops and ridges, and no one at all cared for Cassandra Pentaghast's profound experiences.

She came back to that letter a different person. She wrote her parents a response, calmly explaining that they had nothing to worry about, and started frequenting the rookery every day, awaiting a message from the expedition. She trained with Cullen and ate supper with Josephine, avoided the hospital and read Varric's damn books, and when the raven finally came, she felt as if she was twenty five all over again.

The travellers were gray with dust and fatigue, Iron Bull favouring his injured leg and Madame de Fer wearing a turban instead of her regular stunning hennin. Trevelyan marched at the forefront of the group. Her eyes didn't skip over Cassandra like they did over everyone else.

The war table meeting was dragging on, both because of the number of people attending and the multitude of problems. Cassandra was barely able to force herself to listen to it all, especially when they started discussing the nature of the Veil and the Calling. She let out a relieved breath when Trevelyan finally smashed her palm against the table.

"It's settled then. I know we haven't covered everything, but I think it's high time for well-earned rest. We'll reconvene tomorrow to finish up." She gave everyone a pointed look. They took the hint and started heading out. "One more thing. Cassandra, would you mind telling me where we are with the repairs of the hold?"

"Of course." Cassandra, her legs stiff, approached the other side of the table, where the map of the castle and the valley was laid out. "We've finished repairing the roof of the keep, as well as the renovation of the southern wall of the eastern tower..."

When she straightened, one hand on her hip, the other on the map, Trevelyan was standing right next to her. What's more, she didn't even pretend she was interested in the localisation of the new military encampment, instead raising her gaze to Cassandra's face, as if she had been watching her body earlier. Her lips were parted.

A familiar and inevitable wave of heat came over Cassandra. Trevelyan's eyes, wide open and a bit glassy, were fixed on her face. She was grey with dust, her turban hanging off her collar. It was a defining moment, that much was clear.

"I need to tell you something," Cassandra said through clenched teeth and moved forward against her better judgement, pressing Trevelyan against the table. She parted her legs with her thigh, the creaking sound of leather against leather clearly audible in the room.

"I think I know what," Trevelyan replied, grabbing her by the belt.

Had it been one of Varric's novels, he would have probably drawn a veil over that scene and moved on to describing the beautiful mountain scenery. It wasn't a heart wrenching romance though, but one of the most indecent kisses Cassandra had ever had in all her life. She wanted to give Trevelyan a chance to protest, but there was no resistance on her part: Trevelyan just opened her mouth willingly and jerked Cassandra by the belt with such strength that she had to brace herself against the table in order not to pin Trevelyan down against the map and the carefully laid out markers. Trevelyan smelled of the outdoors and female sweat, the buckles of her outfit digging painfully into Cassandra's breastbone. When Cassandra glanced at her, she could see her eyes made up in dark kohl, as well as her scarred eyebrow which somehow clashed with the impression of kissing that former, familiar Trevelyan.

It ended as quickly as it began: when Cassandra grabbed Trevelyan's thigh, Trevelyan slipped out of her embrace in one fluid movement.

"Forgive me, Cassandra, but this will have to wait."

Cassandra lowered her hands and fixed her eyes on the floor. She knew what to expect.

"I haven't had the chance to wash myself for a month," Trevelyan continued. "We were in the desert, after all."

Cassandra raised her head, baffled.

"I'm going to take a bath now." Trevelyan brushed a thumb against her own lower lip in an unequivocally erotic gesture. "Will you come to me in an hour or so...?"

"What? Yes, of course. Very well."

She stepped out into the corridor, still not fully grasping what had just happened. She had to lean against the wall for a while in order to regain her mental capacities. Finally, she went out into the courtyard and, completely ignoring Cullen's attempts to strike up a conversation, went straight back to her quarters. Should she change? No, that would be too much, she settled on just taking off her chainmail. For whatever reason she could not remember what else she was supposed to do, so she decided to take a walk on the battlements. The ever phenomenal Hawke was talking to Anders down in the hospital, but Cassandra wasn't moved by that at all, not in the slightest. Finally, after a time much shorter than an hour, she turned back to the castle, her gait confident, passed everyone wandering around the great hall, and took the stairs. Funny as it may have seemed, there was a kind of reverence in that.

She knocked on the door and pushed it open, the hot, humid air hitting her as she entered. Trevelyan lay in a tub full of steamy water, one leg thrown over its edge in a playful manner.

"It's hasn't been an hour yet," she said, sounding mildly alarmed, and sat up. Water dribbled down her breasts.

"It hasn't." Cassandra took off her gloves and kneeled down next to the tub. "But I couldn't wait anymore."

Trevelyan inhaled sharply and grabbed Cassandra's hand under the water. "Are you sure you know why you're here?" she asked, the tone of her voice inquisitive.

"I am," Cassandra responded, because she was.

Trevelyan grabbed her by the collar with wet hands, pulling her closer. Cassandra braced herself on the edges of the tub in order not to douse herself, but eventually gave up: she grabbed Trevelyan by the waist and pulled her up, and it was very silly, because Trevelyan was wet and naked, and she – dry and clothed. A moment later she felt her calves hit the edge of the bed. She sat down, her eyes never leaving Trevelyan who was in the process of wrenching the water out of her hair. Her body was full, mature, resembling that of the women from Antivan paintings, but having crossed almost the whole of Ferelden with her, Cassandra knew it was also durable and strong.

"Undress," Trevelyan ordered.

Offended slightly, Cassandra unclasped her boots and the gambeson. Trevelyan leant forward to help Cassandra get it off her shoulders, brushing her breasts against Cassandra's chest in the process and taking her on a sudden trip down memory lane back to the times when they had shared a bed both frequently and eagerly. To mask the tenderness that threatened to overtake her, Cassandra pressed her face against the skin on Trevelyan's side, kissing the spot just above her hip hungrily. Trevelyan gasped and the smell of ozone permeated the air, like before a storm.

Cassandra decided not to waste any more time: she put her arms around Trevelyan's waist and pulled her down, covered her with her own body, filled up her hands. Every so often she would glance at Trevelyan's head thrown back in exhilaration, her half-lidded eyes, her parted lips. Every time she did that, she couldn't help but wonder – not why they were here, but how they could have ever stopped.

Cassandra parted her legs with her knee, at which point Trevelyan grabbed her arm forcefully, her other hand grasping at the bed sheets. Her grip was becoming stronger and stronger, as if they were joined in a circuit full of flowing energy, and Cassandra had to dig her knees into the mattress to keep herself from sliding down the bed. Much to her satisfaction, after a couple of minutes of relative silence Trevelyan let out a loud cry that someone not involved in the situation could probably mistake for a cry of pain. Afterwards, she collapsed limply on the bed, and Cassandra lay down next to her. She didn't even notice that night had fallen or that it had started raining. By the time they were finished it was pouring heavily.

Suddenly Trevelyan burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?"

"No one would ever believe me," she said, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand, "that the best sex I've ever had was with the Right Hand of the Divine."

"Perhaps there is a reason behind that nickname," Cassandra shot back without thinking.

Trevelyan kept on laughing heartily, curled on her side. "When did you get so funny?" she gasped out, ruining the mood skilfully.

Cassandra raised herself to her knees, unwilling to participate in yet another session of retrospective accusations, but before she was able to do anything else, Trevelyan grabbed her wrist and shook her head sternly.

"I don't know where you think you're going," she said, embracing Cassandra from behind. "You said you knew why you were here."

Cassandra didn't respond because her mouth went completely dry. Trevelyan's hands slid down to the drawstrings of her shirt, then to her breeches, undoing them and slipping inside. Cassandra had to lean against a bedpost in order not to lose her balance, and Trevelyan, eager, made good use of the extra space: she slid Cassandra's pants down to her knees, palmed her breast with one hand and touched her centre with another.

"I think for some time now you've been resisting me only as a matter of principle," she whispered into Cassandra's ear. "Even though what you really wanted was for me to take you into this bed. Like that day when you came here with that strained shoulder..."

Cassandra tried so hard not to make a sound that from the corner of her eye a single tear of effort fell down her cheek.

"Remember, I know you." With that, Trevelyan was through with speaking and at that moment, everything was through for Cassandra as well.

She didn't remember much from that night afterwards, as if she was put under some kind of spell, just that she left the bed at some point to get some water. She fell asleep afterwards, late at night, when the rest of the hold had gone quiet. When she woke up the next morning, Trevelyan was still sleeping, her face gentle and calm.

That day she didn't see her until the afternoon meeting in the war room, the continuation of the previous day. Trevelyan conducted it competently, almost not looking at Cassandra, who stood by the door so as not to let anyone see her face. She knew her weaknesses well.

She was one the first people to leave the war room and then ran down the stairs to the wine cellar. Someone made a point of knocking loudly on the door just when she was in the process of choosing a bottle for the evening.

"Am I interrupting?" asked Trevelyan.

"No, of course not." Cassandra grabbed a random bottle. "I take it you want to talk?"

"No, why would I?"

Cassandra turned on her heel to see that Trevelyan was giving her a challenging look. For some reason she was wearing gala armour topped with a gorget featuring the eye of the Inquisition. It was both absurd and extraordinary.

"There's nothing to talk about." Trevelyan shrugged and took one step forward. "It happened."

"And that's it?" Cassandra swung the bottle she was holding wildly. "Don't you want to know why I didn't seek you out once I moved in the hierarchy enough to have the templars bow down to me? I'm sure you wanted to, not a long time ago."

"Does it matter? I didn't do that either, even though I could've once I became an Enchanter."

"Then why are you here?" Cassandra asked, desperate.

Trevelyan took another step forward, and then one more, slowly, as if she was fighting herself. Suddenly very close, she put her arms loosely around Cassandra, but stopped there. Cassandra just stood there, still and stiff, inhaling the smell of her hair, and finally hugged her back. She turned her head and kissed Trevelyan's cheek, the edge of her jaw, and finally her mouth, almost as if nothing had ever happened.


	6. Chapter 6

When Trevelyan awoke after that eventful night in her quarters atop the tower, she was alone. On the one hand she felt disappointed, on the other though – relieved, because it would certainly be awkward. After so much time had passed...

She lay in bed for a while longer, enjoying the familiar soreness of muscles, but sprang to her feet the moment she remembered that Dorian was supposed to come for breakfast. She managed to put on her undergarments and had just finished wrapping a dressing gown around herself when someone knocked on the door.

"Inquisitorial breakfast!" announced Dorian merrily, carrying a jug of milk and a teapot. Behind him, her face straight, marched Marcie, Trevelyan's maid, holding a tray. "I hope you're no longer in a state of dishabille."

"No, you may enter. Thank you, Marcie. Sit down, Dorian. I just..." She picked up the clothes scattered next to the tub. Dorian kept looking at her with interest. "And done. Alright then. We can go ahead and start eating."

Dorian poured himself some tea. "Is there anything you want to tell me?" he asked.

"I don’t know, is there? As a matter of fact, yes, a month's worth of complaining about Vivienne I didn't have the chance to share with anyone. I'm aware we don't see eye to eye, but this time it went too far..."

"You look somewhat different today. Radiant, I'd say."

"Stop that." She threatened him with a spoon. "I know what you're getting at."

"I ran into Cassandra this morning," he said, his tone nonchalant. "She was leaving the tower. I have never seen her in such a good mood as today."

"Are you just messing with me or do you really want to know?"

"Do you want to tell? I'm not insisting, I was, indeed, messing with you, but if you want to get something off your chest then by all means, do."

Did she want to? She rather thought she did. It was some time ago that she discovered that talking about things made it easier to distance yourself from them, to sort it all out properly.

She told Dorian her sad story, starting from the dragon in Wildervale and ending with the synod. He didn't really get what the obstacle between her and Cassandra had been, or why they had been separated, so she had to explain to him again how the mages in the south had been living prior to the vote in the White Spire. She had a feeling, though, that he would never truly understand it, the same way she wasn't able to comprehend how anyone could ever sell and buy people as if they were a piece of homeware.

The story itself, accompanied by Orlesian croissants, briar marmalade and tea didn't seem as epic as it did just a few hours earlier when Trevelyan's hand was tracing the indentation Cassandra's body had left on the bed. Maybe it was for the best, because otherwise it would run a risk of overwhelming her, and the last thing Trevelyan needed right now was yet another matter to be overwhelmed by.

"It wasn't all for nothing though, was it?" Dorian asked, suddenly completely serious. "That Anders fellow you wanted to help back then, he’s paid his debt now."

"No, it definitely wasn't. If it weren't for this, everything could have gone either way for me... It's possible we wouldn't be sitting here right now. We almost certainly wouldn't be."

"And one more thing that springs to mind: you met each other again. Cynical as it may sound, few people get that chance."

Considering all the silly chatter Dorian liked to indulge in, there were occasions when he would come up with something really wise. She kept his words in mind while she was getting dressed, which took a while, because she had to put on a suit of Inquisition gala armour to welcome the Orlesian messenger. Josephine insisted that – with their resources so limited – the Inquisition had to make the most of etiquette and good will.

After yet another lengthy council meeting she found Cassandra in the wine cellar. They were kissing like teenage girls behind its doors, freezing every time heard approaching footsteps in the corridor. Cassandra almost broke the wine bottle she was holding in the process of pressing Trevelyan against the wall.

"How about we drink it at my place?" asked Trevelyan, her voice hoarse.

Cassandra broke away from Trevelyan's neck, clearly surprised with the existence of human speech. She just nodded in agreement. Her eyes were dark, lids heavy.

They began heading upstairs in tense silence. Trevelyan could have probably found some topics for conversation, such as floor renovation in the great hall, but ultimately she thought it a dangerous move, instead opting for the laconic approach.

There was a helpless-looking messenger waiting at the door to her quarters.

"Her Excellence Ambassador Montilyet would like to see Your Worship at once. It will not take long," he added upon noticing the disgruntled expression that must have appeared on Trevelyan's face.

"Cassandra, would you mind—"

"I'll wait," Cassandra snapped, pushing the door open with her shoulder.

Trevelyan didn't listen to Josephine at all, which might have resulted in her agreeing to bring some twenty tailors from Val Royeaux over to Skyhold. She also didn't expect Cassandra to still be in the tower when she got back, and yet she was there: the woman who fearlessly fought dragons lay on the bed on her stomach, engrossed in one of Varric's older books, her chin braced on her hand, her leg twitching nervously. She was also completely naked.

Trevelyan stopped mid-step, intent on not scaring the vision away, but Cassandra had already spotted her: she closed the book and rolled over to her side, revealing pert breasts with dark nipples in the process. The question Trevelyan had been asking herself all day – that is, why was she getting involved in this all over again – got pushed aside again.

Cassandra waved at her imperiously, and Trevelyan began hurriedly undoing buckles and clamps, trying to get rid of her problematic armour. She wasn't doing well though, and after a moment Cassandra sighed and got up from the bed to help her. It could probably be said that they just went to bed, but it was so much more: Trevelyan died, left her body, went to haunt people and came back, only to almost set fire to the canopy. Cassandra, as always passionate and incredibly focused on everything she was doing, had clearly picked up a few new moves. Trevelyan was torn between the feeling of gratitude and jealousy mixed with regret for the time they'd lost.

In the afterglow Trevelyan glanced at Cassandra, her eyes half-lidded. It was hard to believe that a person she'd hated for such a long time was now lying there innocently, within the reach of Trevelyan's arms, breathing calmly with one forearm thrown across her face. There were, after all, different stages to the anger Trevelyan had felt: the initial one, when she was imprisoned in a very old tower in the middle of nowhere, with a few other scared mages and a lot of templars, and no one came to her rescue; the unfolding one when she found out that Cassandra had willingly joined an institution that had treated Trevelyan and many of her comrades so badly; the dark one, getting progressively darker as the Right Hand of the Divine was becoming more and more famous; and finally the stage of scathing virulence when Nimrod went missing in Kirkwall and the Seekers annulled the Circle in Dairsmud. Prior to that she had been prone to occasional fits of crying in the corner of her dormitory or in the glasshouse behind the tomatoes, but after that she just kept her fists clenched, doing her best to prepare for the laborious climb up the hierarchy in Markham. That Circle was thought to be one of the most peaceful in that part of Thedas, but, after three years of exhausting brainwashing during the internment, Trevelyan found herself a member of one of the most progressive factions south of Tevinter: the secret Libertarian Fraternity.

Even though Trevelyan thought on many occasions just how difficult she would have made Seeker Cassandra's life if she had just stuck her nose beyond Markham's castle gates, Cassandra simply never came there.

Suddenly disquieted, Trevelyan outstretched her arm and touched Cassandra's shoulder.

"What?" Cassandra turned the scarred cheek to her.

"Nothing. I just wanted to check whether you're real."

"And? Am I?" She rolled off the bed in one impressive movement.

"I guess so." Trevelyan braced her chin on her hands, observing Cassandra as she was gathering elements of her outfit and putting them on meticulously. She had already decided that her favourite part of Cassandra's body was that spot where her hip and her thigh met. "You're leaving now, yes?"

"I have things to do. I've wasted enough time here as it is."

When she left the room, Trevelyan rolled onto her back and sighed. For a moment there she allowed herself to think that at the top of this tower they were alone in some no man's land, beyond the world of tiresome war meetings or madmen with elven artifacts and red lyrium, beyond the reach of treaties and canons of various orders. She got up and put her armour back on the rack. Straightening, she noticed her reflection in the mirror, the absurdly spacious quarters with expensive equipment and outfits behind her, and she approached it. She wasn't sure what else she could wish for.

The next day Josephine called a meeting of all the more significant members of the Inquisition, as the invitation for the ball in the Empress' Winter Palace extended to them as well. After a prolonged discussion a handful of representatives were chosen to travel to Orlais, which allowed Josephine to start planning their outfits and arranging their entourage. Cassandra was disgruntled upon finding out that she wouldn't be able to just put on her best armour, and Dorian worried, since most of his outfits were more appropriate for hot summer rather than coldish spring. The rest, however, seemed excited, if rational about it. Trevelyan was mostly thinking about how much it would cost, but Josephine kept assuring her that they would gain it all back once in Orlesian noblemen's good graces.

Josephine might have had a point there, because crossing the gates of the Winter Palace, they looked as if they had all just moved up in the world significantly. Dorian was dripping with gold, wearing an embroidered cotehardie, while Josephine, Leliana and Vivienne made swishing noises with their fashionable Orlesian farthingales topped with high collars. Trevelyan, having not agreed to wear one, but still having to suffer through a corset, wore a dress with many layers made of half-transparent tulle nettings, with a golden belt wrapped around her waist. The outfit was topped with a jewel necklace of the same pattern. Cassandra, an adversary to impractical clothing, was sporting a tailored doublet with a stand-up collar, which did wonders to her impressive shoulders and her waistline. They were also all wearing sashes with the sign of the Inquisition, as well as masks, their weapons stashed safely in the trunks in the break room.

Trevelyan, barely breathing in her tight corset, tried to somehow mask the stress she was under. After everything she'd been through with her Circle during the war, she was quite used to intrigues and high tier conversations, but Halamshiral was the epicentre of conflicting affairs and problems, not only for Orlais, but for the whole of south. Admittedly, she had Leliana and Vivienne to help her navigate among nobles and officials, but nothing could save her from her true nightmare, which was full titles.

"Her Worship the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, the baroness of Ostwick, Agrippina Praxedes Tyrmanda Trevelyan."

Some people snorted, others made faces. Trevelyan fished them out in the crowd, swearing she'd get her revenge first chance she got. Finally she had the means.

They had the chance to make use of their weapons soon after that. Running around the guest wing of the palace, hunting Tevinter spies and mysterious Harlequins, Trevelyan couldn't help but think that Hawke would really regret not being able to come with them for reasons of reputation. It all was really very much Hawke's style.

Cassandra seemed to share that sentiment.

"This is complete madness," she said as Varric, down on his knees, was in the process of picking yet another lock. "They'll hang us!"

"It's wonderful book material," drawled Varric. "But the more you complain, Seeker, the worse the light you'll be cast in."

"He said he wouldn't write about us!" Cassandra protested.

"And to think in Tevinter we have you southerners pegged as boring," said Dorian offhandedly. He was the only one among them who didn't change into a more combat-appropriate outfit.

"If you ever do write this down, Varric," said Trevelyan, her tone completely serious, "be so kind as to skip the parts where I desperately need to use the toilet."

When her companions were searching the Empress' chambers, Trevelyan was peeing into her porcelain bed-pan, hoping no one would ever find out how the foiling of the Halamshiral coup actually went down. She was nervous and kept drinking way too much because of that, and the ball along with the talks were going on forever, leaving them no option but to continue until dawn. Even though just an hour earlier she was exhausted, now she felt too excited to sleep, instead wandering around the palace, currently being cleaned after the ball and bloody fights it had hosted.

Cassandra was standing on the balcony, elbows braced against the balustrade, watching the pinkish sunrise.

"I can't believe it's over," said Trevelyan. The balustrade was of an ideal height to lean against it with the small of her back.

"I suppose it isn't. We should leave as soon as we can if we don't want to be dragged into Orlesian business—"

"You can never just let it go, can you? Cassandra's on the lookout. Don't let the wonderful surroundings fool you: the intrigue goes on."

Cassandra frowned, clearly thinking of a retort, but gave it up and gave Trevelyan an apologetic glance. "You're right. It's a success, we should be glad."

"Exactly," Trevelyan said and outstretched her hand. "How about a dance then? We didn't have the chance earlier."

"Trevelyan... there was a reason we didn’t throw balls back at home, as you have probably noticed."

"I'm sure it's not that bad."

"Very well. At your own risk then."

Trevelyan grabbed her by the waist and began to lead. They spun around a few times, but with each turn Cassandra got more and more lost, so Trevelyan decided to stick to the basic figures. Turning her head slightly, she could see Cassandra's cheek, covered by delicate hair, and her impressive profile, and for a moment there she thought that everything would always be alright from now on. Then Cassandra slipped a hand into the slit of her dress.

"That's hardly appropriate, my lady," Trevelyan said, holding her breath, feeling Cassandra's hand travel slowly up her thigh.

Cassandra softly blew hot air into her ear. "Everything I'm thinking of now is inappropriate."

She was supposed to get some sleep before their journey back into the mountains, but, common sense be damned, she took Cassandra back to her guest rooms and almost ripped that bloody doublet open.

"Just be quiet," said Cassandra quietly, undoing the last hooks. "Leliana and Josephine are on the other side of that door."

"You think they don't know?" Trevelyan jerked at the fastening of Cassandra's breeches.

"They don't have to know everything." Cassandra bent down to take off her boots and a moment later she was wonderfully, impressively naked.

Trevelyan pulled up her dress and kneeled down, pressing her face against the joint of Cassandra's thighs. Surprisingly enough, she could in fact hear muted conversation coming from the other side of the door – it sounded like her advisors were discussing tea. Cassandra must have disturbed them a little banging her fists against the door frame.

Once they got back, the preparations for their expedition to Adamant went into effect. Trevelyan was sure everything was going according to the plan, until Josephine accosted her in the courtyard, interrupting her conversation with Fiona.

"I know we're meeting tonight, Inquisitor, but this matter cannot wait."

"If it can't, then let's hear it over there. We'll get back to this, Fiona, forgive me."

"I'm not sure how I should put it into words... hmm..."

"How about brief and to the point?" Trevelyan was getting suspicious of Josephine beating around the bush.

"Very well, as you wish. We're facing bankruptcy."

"What?" hollered Trevelyan, drawing the attention of some guardsmen passing them by. "How is it possible? We were supposed to make profits during that visit!"

"Unfortunately, the support of Orlesian nobility so far was only declarative, and the visit did empty out the vault..."

"And if we seize that Orlesian hold? There's a castle there too, Griffon Wing Keep or something..."

"Keeps yield profits only after a time. Before that, they only cost money."

"Is it really bad?"

Josephine looked her in the eye and nodded silently. "We will sell some horses, artefacts... I don't know. One way or another, we'll have to take it up during the meeting."

"That would be best."

When Josephine left, followed by the swish of her skirts, Trevelyan grabbed her head. As she couldn't really drink before the meeting, she decided on the next best thing to get her mind away from things: she went by the smithy to look for Cassandra. Cassandra wasn't there though, so she checked the training ring – no luck, even the tavern was empty this time of day, with no one but the Iron Bull and Krem eating their dinner. She climbed up the stairs to the battlements, went through the eastern tower, looked out the balustrade – and there she saw Cassandra, in the spot on the walls where she usually sought solitude. Leaning against the battlements, she was looking at the valley.

"Am I interrupting?" Trevelyan asked, hoping she wasn't.

"No," said Cassandra, not turning to face her. "In fact I was about to go look for you."

"Sounds good." Trevelyan came closer and put a hand on Cassandra's back. Cassandra went stiff and straightened up, causing the hand to fall down. "Is something wrong?"

"I had a visitor from Val Royeaux today," Cassandra said, crossing her arms. Her expression was impossible to read. "It turns out my candidacy for the Sunburst Throne is being taken into account."

"So... you would be the next Divine?"

"They would consider me for the vote."

"Is that even possible if you aren't ordained?"

"Of course. History knows such cases when the vows would be taken already on the throne, Constance the Great for example..."

Trevelyan shook her head. "I don't get it. I was there when they threw you out of the Grand Cathedral!"

"They did. But there are factions in the Chantry too, much like in your fraternities, and the liberal one has been gaining in strength with each day. They are considering Leliana and myself."

"Leliana I get..." Trevelyan had to lean against the battlements. "But… This is something you want?"

"It's not an offer you can reject," Cassandra said coolly. "It's as if you were named the Grand Enchanter – can you imagine turning it down?"

"Yes, there's only so much I can do at once!"

"It's not only a great honour, but also a duty," Cassandra continued as if she couldn't hear her. "Accompanied by certain sacrifices."

Trevelyan knew right away what those sacrifices were.

"How long did you know about this?" she demanded.

"The letter came when we were in Halamshiral. But, officially, I found out today."

"And you really are considering it?"

Cassandra just shrugged. "I feel as if it's something you strive toward your entire life. You became the Inquisitor because there was a need for that at that time, and now the thing Andrastians need the most is the new Divine. It's a great responsibility, but just think about how much good it can bring about..."

Trevelyan closed her eyes for a moment and when she opened them again, they remained dry. "I see," she said politely. "Remember, please, that there is a meeting this evening. We have something important to discuss."

She turned on her heel, heading for the stairs. She could hear Cassandra shifting from one foot to the other, but ultimately not doing anything, so she just clenched her teeth and went down to the courtyard. After all, she still had to talk about reorganising their structures with Fiona, come up with a way to procure provisions, consider their nonexistent funds, and accompany the Commander during the valley camps visitation, not to mention that come evening they would have to think of a way to obtain money.

When, long after the dusk has fallen, she finally got to her quarters on top of the tower, she almost collapsed. She barely managed to get to her desk where she flopped down onto the chair and, in a fit of rage, knocked off books, papers and random knick knacks from every part of Thedas down onto the floor. The figure of Andraste the hunter from the Western Approach broke down into countless little pieces Trevelyan would often step on during the following days.


	7. Chapter 7

After that last, disastrous conversation with Trevelyan Cassandra found out the true meaning of the term ‘to have a falling out with someone’. Trevelyan obviously couldn't exclude her from the war council, but each and every informal meeting or appointment was happening entirely behind Cassandra's back; the Inquisitor's closest companions kept giving her the stink eye and Her Worship herself made a point of avoiding her completely unless their meeting was absolutely essential. Unfortunately, Cassandra's body hadn't quite caught up with the turn of events, still burning with desire in Trevelyan's presence, said desire manifesting itself in the form of random flashes of heat, flashbacks to carnal acts and, sometimes, other troubling elements. Cassandra was not only furious, but also burning hot, almost to the point of sickness, and at some point it started to show.

Finally, Cullen took pity on her inviting her to a heavy sparring session. She kept hitting him with her shield so hard he finally yielded, patting the ground; then they dressed down to their shirts and began fighting with their training swords. People gathered around to cheer for them and much to Cassandra's satisfaction she noticed Trevelyan standing on the balcony of the high tower. After that they went to the well together and came by the canteen to get something to eat. They talked about difficult recruits, provisioning, boring masses in the chapel. Cullen kept trying to do something about his unruly hair and at the end he even told her a few compliments. Leaving the canteen, she felt more decent, better.

After many days of nervous preparations, they finally headed out for a reconnaissance mission in the Western Approach. Cassandra hoped she would lead the main forces with Cullen, but she ended up in the vanguard. Seeing as most of her companions preferred Trevelyan's company, she mostly stayed in the rear, which allowed her to spent some time thinking about prerogatives, edicts and support for the coming Conclave. Even though she thought she knew perfectly well what kind of reforms the Chantry needed, it was surprisingly difficult to put her thoughts into words.

"The weather is improving," she said offhandedly during their evening stop, observing the parting clouds.

The camp didn't seem too moved by that. Trevelyan sat with her back turned ostentatiously to her, Varric kept noting something down in his notebook, Dorian Pavus was mending his gloves and Hawke busied herself with diligent teeth picking after the evening meal. With no one eager for classic weather small-talk, Cassandra snorted and went off to wash her feet.

They made camp near the river starting at the Western Approach's plateau. Even though the surrounding landscape consisted mostly of dry grasslands, the river banks were green, with groves full of contorted trees or scattered bushes. When Cassandra successfully broke through the thicket, she stepped right into a puddle.

"To the—"

"Void with that?" suggested Anders, seated on a big, flat rock sticking out from the water.

"Forgive me for this intrusion," she said, because the mage was quite obviously in a state of undress: his robes were tucked over his bony knees, and the various metal, linen and fur elements he usually accessorised with were hanging on the branch of a nearby tree.

"It's quite alright. I think there's enough space for the both of us."

Cassandra crouched down by a stone at a distance from Anders, her eyes never leaving him even when she was shaking out water and sand from her boots.

"There's no need to squint suspiciously at me, Seeker," he said scornfully, tying his long hair in a bun. "Like you, I am just trying to clean myself up after that damned desert."

"I'm not squinting suspiciously," Cassandra said and, just to confirm her words, she looked at him openly. His legs were thin and pale, his toes twisted and knobbly. He could be a few years older than she was.

"Who would've thought, eh?" Anders waggled his toes underwater. "The Apostate from Kirkwall suffers from rheumatism. They kept me locked in damp cellars and cold holding cells for too long, I think."

"I'm sorry." Cassandra washed her legs down. The water was cool and soothing. "Couldn't you... you know... heal it?"

"Not permanently." He rubbed his hands together, put them to his feet and a moment later a familiar, blue light encompassed them. The proximity of magic covered Cassandra's skin in goose bumps. "Give it a day or two and it starts to hurt again. When the body is so sick, the only thing you can do is give it a momentary relief."

"It's good you have that possibility."

"Someone has to, what with you lot swinging your swords back and forth time and again."

"I do not appreciate that accusatory tone in your voice," Cassandra said, her own voice dangerously low. "Especially considering all the lives you have on your conscience."

Anders drew back apprehensively, but then his eyes flashed blue. "At least I take responsibility for that, unlike you people for Dairsmuid, Starkhaven and a thousand other places!"

"What you people?" Cassandra dried off her legs with as much dignity as she could muster. "I didn't participate in any of the incidents you mentioned. What's more, I even agree that the Chantry must face the consequences of such events, own up to its mistakes, look for new solutions..."

"It's too late for that." Anders put his boots back on angrily. "It cannot be saved—"

"Then what? You would have the whole institution destroyed? Chantries everywhere closed down?"  
She buckled her boots and stood up. "You'd have the sisters expelled, the brothers laid off, the nurseries, schools and hospitals closed? The Chantry is so much more than just templars and mages, you and me. We cannot throw it into the gutter just because something didn't work out..."

"Maybe that's exactly what we should do, start over." Anders got to his feet too. "Isn't that the only way to avoid past mistakes?"

"What? No, of course not! It's that destructive rage that makes you lose sight of the real purpose—"

"You would have me believe that, if you're chosen the next Divine, you won't re-open the Circles?"

Cassandra had already opened her mouth to retort when she realised she didn't know what to say. She shifted from one foot to the other, trying to collect her thoughts. Anders smiled, triumphant upon seeing the expression of cerebration on her face.

"That's what I thought. I tried to explain to Hawke that the Inquisitor and the Inquisition are one thing, but Chantry people are another—"

"Yes." Cassandra interrupted. "That I can tell you. The Circles won't be back. If I have anything to say on that matter – and I probably will – I can promise that you and your people won't be back in Kirkwall or Calenhad."

Anders, ready to harangue her further, suddenly shrank down, softened visibly and finally smiled. In the heat of the moment Cassandra reached out with her hand and when he caught it, she helped him get to the riverbank. She didn't want to say anything lest she ruined the moment, but thankfully Anders saved her from initiating the conversation by engaging in a longish anecdote. The entire camp went quiet from consternation when they emerged from the thicket together.

The next evening they met up with the Inquisition's main forces. Cassandra set her tent at a small distance from the others, intent on getting some rest after such a tiresome day. She was about to fall asleep when someone scratched against the flap of her tent's opening.

She sat up and grabbed her sword. "Who's there?"

"It's me," said Trevelyan, her voice muted. "Can I come in?"

"I don't want to fight again, Trevelyan."

"That's not why I'm here."

"Then why are you here?" She opened the flaps. Trevelyan burst inside, her hair wild and her tunic half undone.

"That's why," she said and tackled Cassandra, pressing her against the bedroll with her body. Cassandra instinctively grabbed her around the waist, Trevelyan's mouth found her mouth, Trevelyan's fingers slid into her hair.

"I'm not saying it's unpleasant, but—"

"I talked to Anders," Trevelyan gasped out, kissing the spot under her ear. "He told me... what you said... about the Circles..."

"I might have mentioned something," agreed Cassandra, torn between decency and desire.

"I know you won't change your mind..." Trevelyan jerked at the strings of Cassandra's shirt, undoing them forcefully. "But at least we can have this."

Cassandra thought it was a good deal. She lifted Trevelyan's tunic eagerly, realising she wore nothing underneath. She grabbed her buttocks and pushed her down against her thigh; Trevelyan sighed deeply, hot and wet. She kept kissing Cassandra greedily, as if it really was their last time, as if she was never going to kiss anyone else, even though Cassandra knew that out of the two of them Trevelyan was the one less likely to be subject to that fate.

She pulled her up. Trevelyan straddled Cassandra's head, her hands sliding down the fabric of the tent, having found nothing to grip there. Cassandra hid her face in Trevelyan, not wanting her to read it like an open book again. She made Trevelyan arch her back and suddenly they were interlocked in some sort of endless circle that somehow managed to bring the distant past together with the challenging present.

When everything was over, Trevelyan fell down next to Cassandra with a thud. The tent was fairly small, forcing them to lie very close to each other and Cassandra couldn't resist turning her head and looking at Trevelyan. She was looking back. There was absolutely nothing more to say.

The next day they set off for Adamant. The journey was long, mostly because of lady Seryl's trebuchets that were difficult to transport, which resulted in Cassandra spending numerous stops braced resignedly on the saddle. That was how Hawke found her.

"Seeker?" she asked, not only tearing Cassandra away from her thoughts, but also causing a small internal burst of panic; admittedly Cassandra got used to seeing her in the hold or the camps, but in close proximity, especially in one-on-one situations Hawke was still striking and intense.

"Hawke? What is it?"

"I just wanted to ask you a few questions, because I'm not really up to date with everything that's going on here."

Cassandra looked at her, trying not to focus on particular body parts. Hawke was impressively tall and fit, especially for a mage - she probably had her lifestyle and distinctive type of magic she specialised in to thank for her good form.

"Ask away. I can imagine such big expeditions can be—"

"What, this?" Hawke frowned. "No, never mind this. I was talking about you and the Inquisitor. I know that there was something there – everybody does – and that recently that something wasn't really going all that swimmingly, euphemistically speaking."

Cassandra was stunned silent, bemused that Hawke was breaching that subject and that anybody would even have the nerve to talk to her about that, even though she knew that out of them all Hawke was the one with the most gall. Finally, the only thing she was able to come up with was a weak sound of protest.

"I know it's not my business," said Hawke, interpreting it correctly, "but I really can't take it anymore. I'm not one to give advice, because most of the time it's complete crap, but really – such occasions aren't common for women like us."

"Women like us?" Cassandra managed with difficulty.

"You know, women who can scare quite a lot of people, women that are focused, not to say fixated on the bigger picture. I am saying this as someone who's wasted a lot of time." She patted Cassandra's pauldron. "With utmost care."

"Thank you," said Cassandra. "I guess. I'll need to think about that."

She spurred her horse and rode away. At that moment she was more willing to face a demon army than continue that conversation.

Their attack on the hold was successful – Cassandra's experience had taught her that in sieges the most crucial element was to get inside, which they managed easily thanks to lady Seryl's trebuchets. They had met with strong resistance, of course, but months worth of training the Inquisition's forces didn't go to waste as they steadily seized position after position: the low castle, the yard of the medium castle and, finally, the passage to the high one. Trevelyan was terrifying with her spirit blade, Hawke kept breaking down walls and floors, Cassandra, Blackwall and Fenris attacked everyone who managed to evade magic and Varric finished off the rest with his bolts.

When they saw the dragon Erimond had called, it was suddenly made clear that it wouldn't be just a regular siege, and when the terrace of the high castle broke in half beneath their feet, Cassandra thought that at least she would die in good company. She didn't hit the courtyard flagstones though, but was suspended awkwardly in air that wasn't really air.

"If that's the afterlife," said Hawke, wobbly on her feet, "then the Chantry owes me an apology. This looks nothing like the Maker's bosom."

"It's the Fade," said Trevelyan, brushing off invisible dust from her armour. "But it looks different than it did during my Harrowing..."

"Nor does it look like the Fade we ended up in." Fenris, a disgruntled grimace on his face, touched one of the greenish crystals sticking out from the ground in all directions and withdrew his hand immediately.

"It's the real Fade," said Trevelyan, her eyes searching for Cassandra. "We are really here."

Of all the new things Cassandra had experienced with the Inquisition – such as being a pariah in the Chantry, fighting a seven feet tall qunari or reversing the course of time, the Fade made for the most extreme experience. The fighting wasn't going the way it usually was – everyone was moving either slower or faster than she expected, and each blow seemed to have a different effect. To make matters worse, they met a spirit claiming it was the Most Holy – and it looked like it could, indeed, be her, but Cassandra tried not to think about it too much, feeling the distinctive tightness in her throat every time she would.

Still, the worst didn't come until later, when the Nightmare blocked their way to the second tear. It was huge, bigger and more hideous than anything Cassandra had ever seen before, more terrifying than the dragon that had once almost sent her to kingdom come.

"We'll have to cut our way out," said Fenris, wiping his sword clean from the brown liquid oozing out of the odious creatures of the Fade. "There's no other way."

"I'll stay," said Hawke, rotating her staff. "I'll cover your back. Off you go!"

"No!" Trevelyan turned on her heel. She was beautiful and terrifying all at once. "If anyone's staying, it's me. I have the best chance of finding another way out."

"Trevelyan..." Dorian outstretched his hand towards her.

"It's not up for discussion, it's an order! I am the Inquisitor, did everyone forget that?"

Out of the corner of her eye Cassandra saw everyone exchanging glances. She knew what they were feeling – she also desperately wanted to get out of that place and forget everything they saw here. Trevelyan turned her back to them, assuming a combat stance. Cassandra looked at the retreating backs of their companions for the last time and joined her.

"What are you still doing here?" Trevelyan yelled at her. "Go with them!"

"I won't leave you." Cassandra covered herself with her shield, legs bent at the knees. "You need a warrior."

"You don't understand! We can't fight it!"

"We can and we will. It's nothing but a big dragon."

Tears were streaming down Trevelyan's cheeks. "Cassandra," she said. "There's only two of us!"

"Isn't that enough?" Cassandra embraced her with the arm she was holding the sword with. The feeling of reassurance she tried to pass through to Trevelyan came back to her twice as strong. "You're a mage, remember? You shape the matter to your will. You're at your most powerful here!"

"It doesn't work like that in the Fade." Trevelyan leant on Cassandra's shoulder.

Cassandra pulled her closer, shielding them both from the first experimental blow of one of the Nightmare's legs.

"It's not your Harrowing! We're here physically, personally!"

Trevelyan looked at her, understanding dawning on her face. "Yes... the Nightmare also chooses the form it presents itself in..."

"It does. Fight it on your terms. I will cover you."

Trevelyan nodded and when she straightened, she was a completely different person than just a moment ago. Electricity sizzled in the air as the spirit blade first materialised in her hand and shortly after transformed into a lance. Gripping it in both hands, she thrust it into the Nightmare's soft underbelly. Cassandra sprang forward to cover her from the counterattack: the blow she felt on her shield made her arm go numb. She rolled over to the other side and continued with the offensive, drawing the monster's attention away from Trevelyan, if only for a while.

She chopped off a few legs and dealt a powerful blow to the Nightmare's body, and was just about to turn back to Trevelyan, when suddenly a lance as thick as her arm shot through the air next to her. She turned around: Trevelyan was there, in two forms no less – the one at the back a normal size, her hair wild and arms raised, and the one at the front a giant, transparent and glowing figure resembling the spirit that had led them here. Trevelyan's enormous aspect struck the Nightmare with ease, as if its body wasn't filling up their whole field of vision, then pulled the weapon back and struck again. That was the final blow. The monster was defeated.

Trevelyan lowered her arms, staggered and fell to her knees. Her nonmaterial aspect shrank down to the size of her shadow and remained suspended in the air for a while in the form of a scintillating cloud, finally dissipating completely along with the lance. Cassandra cast the shield away and ran to her.

"You defeated it!"

"So it appears," Trevelyan said, her voice weak. "I was only doing what you told me to do."

"I have never seen anything like that." Cassandra grabbed her at the waist. Trevelyan's head fell down to rest on her shoulder. "Trevelyan...?"

"I'm so tired. I really... am..."

She went limb in Cassandra's embrace. Cassandra laid her on the ground, touched her forehead fervently, slapped her on the cheek gently, even shook her and raised one eyelid with the tip of her finger. The pupil wasn't reacting and her body seemed to be losing heat.

"It's so unfair," Cassandra said aloud, the feeling of indignation streaming through her. "That's not the way it's supposed to be. That fight is not over yet!"

Her voice reverberated through the enormous emptiness before her. There was nothing but gray plains as far as the eye could reach; it was clear just how ordinary, empty, powerless she herself was.

"It's unfair!" she yelled again. "Holy Andraste, that's not the way it was supposed to be!"

She lowered her head and looked at her armoured boots, clenching her fists and feeling the prickling sensation in the corners of her eyes. Usually she was able to compose herself, be that over a shorter or longer period of time, but this time it was out of the question: suddenly weakened, she fell to her knees and started crying, just like that, arms trembling and throat clenched, crying like she hadn't cried ever since childhood. She never suspected her whole life would lead her to a moment like this one, when it would turn out that everything she could do was completely useless.

When she straightened, wiping her wet face with the back of her hand, there was a gleaming spirit wearing the Divine's mitre floating before her, followed by other figures emerging from the shadows: a woman holding a pitcher, a girl with the scales, a man with a bared sword and another one with a snake wrapped around his hand. Their arrival brightened the landscape around them.

"Who are you?" Cassandra asked, her hand on the hilt of her sword.

"You know that, Cassandra," said the spirit wearing the mitre.

"You may know us as the healing spirits," added the man with the sword. His silhouette made her think of a fully armoured knight. "This is usually the only thing we can do to help you on the other side. That's how we know you."

"Virtus," Cassandra recognised him suddenly. The spirits were all accompanied by the attributes virtues were usually imagined in Chantry iconography. There was Iustitia, Prudentia, Virtus, Honos and Pietas, the one in the Divine's robes and mitre. "Why did you gather here? Did someone send you?"

"We were called for help." The man nodded at the woman wearing the mitre. "We were not able to come earlier, for the Nightmare would have absorbed and distorted us. But you defeated it."

"We did, but at what cost?" Cassandra pointed to Trevelyan, pale and still. "She's the only one who can open the rifts. We will never leave here."

"That can be managed," said Pietas.

"She does not recognise us," added Prudentia, disappointed.

"Why should I recognise you? I'm not a mage, I don't visit the Fade."

"They do not remember it. It was like a dream to them."

"What?" asked Cassandra, desperate. "What don't we remember?"

"Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just," said the man with the sword, touching her arm. That touch filled her with might. Pietas touched her from the other side, lighting a fire inside her.

Prudentia laid Trevelyan's head on her knees, while Iustitia and Honos kneeled down and grabbed her hands. All-encompassing brightness enveloped them – a moment later its hue turned greenish and a big rift tore through the air, revealing the desolate courtyard of the Adamant hold.


	8. Chapter 8

For a long time Trevelyan had been floating in some sort of limbo; she saw clouds moving in the sky, stone structures subverting geometry, as well as a host of different people: her treacherous sister Adolphine enfolded in a black shroud; Cassandra’s father, his face stern; a young templar, the first man she had to kill. She saw her family’s castle enveloped in smoke, bodies hanging from an elm tree in the courtyard, rocking with the wind; the Pentaghast manor at the foot of the green vineyard, surface of the lake glistening in the sun; snow-capped mountain tops in Ferelden. Josephine’s, Dorian’s and even Anders’ worried faces. Then there was a lot of grey walls made of sandstone and finally Leliana and Cullen.

“What happened back then?” Cullen, clearly preoccupied, kept asking.

“The reports are a bit unclear,” Leliana was saying. “Everyone saw different things and Cassandra was her typical laconic self while reporting. She emerged from the rift an hour later than the rest, barely standing. She was carrying the Inquisitor, just as you see her now. I have never seen her, Cassandra, so shaken, and we have known each other for ten years.”

“The Inquisitor is very pale. Are you sure she’s— “

“Anders said she used more magic than she could spend and it drained her body. She needs rest.”

Cullen touched her hand and Trevelyan realised that she couldn’t see him beside her, only feel his presence. She wanted to speak up, to somehow let them know she was there with them, but she was too sleepy. Then there came more people: Leliana’s spies, maids and healers, even Scout Harding and Cremisius Aclassi. The sandstone walls were turning from lighter to darker, and finally Trevelyan awoke and sat up, taking a deep breath of fresh air.

Leliana, napping in a nearby chair, jumped. The papers scattered on the floor.

"Inquisitor! My heart's—"

“It’s good to see you, Leliana,” Trevelyan croaked. “Could I have something to…”

Leliana poured her some water from the pitcher standing near the bed and handed her the mug carefully. Trevelyan drank greedily.

"You weren’t with us for almost five days,” Leliana began explaining. “We’re in the Griffon Wing Keep in the Western Approach. The state you were in, we were afraid to transport you back to Skyhold, so we decided to—"

“Where’s Cassandra?” Trevelyan put the mug aside and threw off the sheets. She was wearing a silk night gown they must have procured from somewhere, because she was sure she didn’t pack anything of the sort for a war expedition.

“Cassandra’s in the hold. She went back to act as the Inquisitor during your absence. We decided I would stay with you until you wake up, since we had to stabilise the situation in this region anyway.”

“And what happened?”

“Complete victory.” Leliana smiled. It was an unusual sight. “Mostly thanks to you, from what I heard.”

“I don’t remember at least half of that.” Trevelyan touched the side of her head, as if it was somehow supposed to help her regain these memories. “Just some flashes, fragments…”

Leliana helped her up. “Anders warned us it could take you some time,” she said. “I’ll go send the message to Skyhold. Please be so kind as not to leave the quarters by yourself, there are very steep steps right outside this door.”

Trevelyan didn’t even try. She went to the window, looking out into the courtyard full of scouts and guardsmen from the local regimen. Judging by the position of the sun in the sky, it was late afternoon. She walked around the rooms, trying to put some life back into her stiff joints, looking for something to wear. She had a feeling she had slept not for five days, but five years, just as if her life until that expedition was something else entirely than what was happening now.

The last thing she remembered was Cassandra. Fully armoured, adamant, eyes raised to the sky… Or some enormous enemy. Leliana told her Cassandra carried her out of the rift. When? She didn’t remember coming back from anywhere.

The door opened. It was Anders.

“Trevelyan! Back among the living!”

“Yes, it would appear so.”

“I never doubted it for a second.” He hugged her. He smelled of something pleasant and homey, like herbs and chicken stew. “But we were worried. Humans aren’t supposed to spend time in the Fade. And…”

“Yes?” She pushed him back slightly, about an arm’s length. Even though his nose was burnt red, he looked much better than the day they welcomed him in Skyhold.

“There is something different about you,” he said and Trevelyan could swear his eyes flashed blue for a moment. “Something changed you.”

“Many somethings. It’s a horrible place, the Fade.”

“It’s diverse. Just like this vale of tears. We’ll work on getting everything back to normal, okay?”

As it turned out, they had more than enough time for that when a massive sandstorm completely cut the Griffon Wing off from the rest of civilisation for almost a week. Trevelyan was able to see with her own eyes how managing such keeps devoured the Inquisition's funds and after only two days she felt like tearing her hair out. Luckily, a message from Adamant came saying that treasure chests had been uncovered in the hold's vaults, probably put there by the Grey Wardens a long time ago. The Inquisition confiscated everything, even the smallest silver plates and forks.

The memories kept coming back in waves. Soon they were successful in reconstructing everything that happened during the battle, up to the point when Trevelyan created a huge aspect of herself and defeated the Nightmare with Cassandra's help. That was the moment when everything got unclear: Anders claimed that Trevelyan was touched by the creatures of the Fade, she didn't remember anything of the sort, and Cassandra's report was indeed scarce in details that didn't concern the number of the enemies or the course of the fight. Were they to rely solely on her statement, it would have to be concluded that they simply continued the fight with nothing but a little change of scenery. What Trevelyan did remember, however, was strange geometry, dream-like encounters with spirits and a feeling that they were in a place no human had stepped foot before.

Her stay in the desert keep would have been a nice change from the constant expeditions and war meetings, had it not been for the feeling that she was wasting time. Nights were the worst, lying in the cold, hard bed, listening to the wind howling outside and imagining Cassandra next to her: she wasn't even naked, just there, her breath regular and methodical, from the depth of her belly, her quiet snorts every time anything, like bed sheets, would somehow stand in her way. But Cassandra, hot like a furnace at night and colder, statue-like come morning, wasn't with her, but in a distant hold in mountains far away.

And as far as, before Adamant, she was in two minds whether it was worth it, to get so involved with someone who would never truly belong to her, now she gave it up completely. Maybe that past, scared, baby Trevelyan wouldn't have made that choice, but this one felt as if she didn't have anything in common with that person. Seasoned warriors she would once be afraid to even address were now bowing before her, outdoing themselves in carrying out her orders, Leliana's complicated maps, once a big challenge for her, weren't half as complex anymore, and after evaluating the treasure from Adamant she even began to look forward to the meetings with the Inquisition's spendthrift Ambassador.

Just before heading out, they sent a raven to Skyhold, but it looked like it didn't make it there in time, because their arrival at the gates caused no small commotion. Trevelyan kept looking only for one person and soon she found her: Cassandra's dark head and Cullen's fair one, both on the steps to the courtyard. They were so engrossed in something that at first they didn’t notice the crowd by the gates, but suddenly they did and sped up: Cassandra even ran up to them, her trot not exactly dignified, her armour clanking, her hand holding the sword belt in place. Trevelyan leapt down from the saddle and had enough time to notice how Cassandra's face brightened upon seeing her; then she was grabbed, pressed against the cold armour, lifted up and even spun around.

"We missed you too," said Leliana, lowering her cowl.

Cassandra realised what she did and let go of Trevelyan. "My apologies," she said. "It's good to see you. There were many rumours as to why you are still not here, each one more stupid than the previous one."

"We've been digging for gold," Trevelyan joked. "I'm glad we're finally here. We need to freshen up and we can meet after the third bell, but I'd like us to stick to crucial matters only. Cassandra… I'd like to talk with you later."

"And I with you," said Cassandra, straightening. Trevelyan felt her cheeks turning red and hoped it could be attributed to the exertion caused by the climb.

The general consensus was that they had succeeded in their endeavour, so, as not to ruin the mood, Trevelyan decided to just receive the report regarding the Inquisition's operations and missions conducted during her absence, leaving planning and asking questions for the future meetings. On the way to her quarters she had been stopped by many people, so when she finally reached the top of the tower, Cassandra was already waiting for her there, shoulder braced against the door frame.

"Forgive me. Everyone here wants my attention."

"Don't worry about it. They were grasping for mine until you got here, I was just enjoying a moment for myself."

Trevelyan let her inside and was suddenly reminded of that time in winter when they came here together to heal Cassandra's strained shoulder. It seemed like so long ago, a completely different life too. She put her bags aside and fell down onto the chaise longue, too tired to even come to the desk. Cassandra walked around the room, hands behind her back as if she was conducting an inspection of the grounds, finally leaning against the desk, her legs crossed at the ankles. The sight was familiar and got Trevelyan to smile.

"I have a lot to say," began Cassandra, her tone serious, "and you know that sometimes it doesn't come easy to me. I would appreciate your patience."

"You have it," said Trevelyan, her hands resting on her stomach. The sun was slowly hiding behind the mountains, setting the glass work in the windows ablaze with light. "Please, continue."

"First thing I would like you to know is that I withdrew my candidacy from the conclave," Cassandra blurted out. "I no longer thought it appropriate, for many reasons I shall endeavour to enumerate in a moment."

Trevelyan tried not to give away her surprise. She just nodded.

"Above all, I discovered that there is a much better candidate for that position among us," Cassandra continued. "Highly spirited, well read in the Chantry scripts, not to mention a member of the expedition that discovered the Urn of Sacred Ashes, a hero of the Fifth Blight… I imagine you already know who I am talking about."

"Of course. However, I was under the impression that you two had some differences with regard to your beliefs."

"Not that many anymore," said Cassandra, somewhat chagrined. "Don't forget I have revised some of mine. I thought about it a lot after I returned from Adamant. What I saw in the Fade convinced me once and for all."

"You know that spirit wasn't really…" tried Trevelyan. "It wasn't your Justinia. I talked to Anders about that. Even if someone dies in the Fade, they don't stay there afterwards. Exactly like they don't stay here."

"I'm aware. But truly, it doesn't change all that much." Cassandra pushed herself away from the desk and took a few steps forward. The struggle was evident on her face. "There are more important things than the scripture and spreading the Chant, than canons and orders. Our visit to the Fade made me realise that, Trevelyan. It's not a source of evil trickling out to earth, the way it does through that Maker forsaken rifts, but merely a reflection of our world, just like our world is a reflection of that one."

"I think so too. But… I didn't think you would. It's heresy, after all."

"Heresy? I don't think so. We're on our own here, Trevelyan. The Maker really did abandon us. Everything depends on us now. On what we do, where we go, what our values are."

"Cassandra… Have you lost faith?"

"No, Trevelyan." Cassandra sat down on the armrest. "I looked beyond the Veil and realised that what empowers some people, corrupts other. It seems that Leliana came to understand that a long time ago. That is why her ideas are so clearly defined. I… I would be too conservative, unable to implement major changes and could as well squander what we are trying to accomplish with the Inquisition. Leliana is simply the right person for our time."

"I'm glad you didn't make me choose between supporting you two. Despite everything, it wouldn't have been an easy choice."

Cassandra frowned and gave her a scrutinising look. "Anyway… I mentioned during our meeting that I went to Caer Oswin, looking for other Seekers?"

"You did. I hope you weren't alone?"

Cassandra shook her head. "I wasn't," she said. "I was with Cullen, Hawke and Fenris. I'm aware it sounds like an unusual party, but it seemed appropriate for the purpose of the expedition. I'll tell you the details later, for now the most important thing is that we found out what happened to my order. That it was destroyed. I am the last one."

"Yes. I'm sorry, Cassandra." Trevelyan remembered how she felt when she found out that no one from her Circle made it out alive.

"I'd like to rebuild it," said Cassandra, her eyes bright. "As it was before. Comprised of the members of the Inquisition. A new order for new times, with a new Divine and her old Right Hand."

Trevelyan nodded. She was under no delusion that Cassandra would leave the Chantry. Somehow it would seem inappropriate for her to do so.

"But there is one more thing," Cassandra continued, getting up again. "By far the most difficult one for me to realise. The truth is, I've served enough in my life."

Trevelyan twitched. "Excuse me?"

"I realized I could continue living the way I did up to this point." Cassandra sat down in the armchair heavily, as if her speech made her powerless. "Of course I could. Back home I served the duchy and my father, then I served the Chantry, now the Inquisition. I have completed every task I have been given, and dare I say I have done so correctly, to say the least. But… something changed in me, Trevelyan. Back then when we defeated the Nightmare."

"What do you mean?" Trevelyan asked. Even her own voice sounded strange to her.

"You died there, Trevelyan." Cassandra's profile was turned to her. "Your body was losing heat. And not the way it does after an effort, it was stiffening, as if it was already empty."

Trevelyan froze. The memory of soft, clammy darkness came back to her.

"I didn't know what to do," Cassandra carried on. "I tried to revive you, but I knew it was all for naught. I didn't save you at all, even though that's what everyone seems to think. There was nothing I could do. Then… the good spirits of the Fade appeared, those that help you heal people. They knew us."

"And what happened then?"

"They filled you with some sort of energy and suddenly I saw your cheeks turn pink. You came back. You could open the way for us."

"Cassandra…"

"I carried you out." Cassandra acted as if she didn't hear her at all. She was looking at the glass work in the window. "You were unconscious for a long time, but Anders, who examined you, said it was only a matter of time. But I had to go back." She wiped her eyes with her hand. "Trevelyan, I realised then that I don't want to do this without you. It's stupid, unimaginable even that so much would depend on one person only, but it seems I am no longer whole, and perhaps I never was."

Trevelyan sniffled, because of course she felt like crying. That really was something, if only the enemies of the Inquisition knew, no one would take them seriously.

Cassandra sprang up from the armchair and produced a handkerchief from somewhere. "I apologise for making you cry, Trevelyan. I'll leave if you want."

"No," said Trevelyan, her voice muted, and didn't take the handkerchief. "Please, stay."

Cassandra kneeled down on one knee and wiped Trevelyan's face. Suddenly, it turned into a caress and Trevelyan couldn't help herself anymore: she threw her arms around Cassandra's neck and pressed her nose to the soft skin on Cassandra's cheek. She didn't know how long they stayed like this, even though it was uncomfortable; finally Cassandra set her back on the chaise longue and sat next to her, embracing her with one arm. No one said anything. Cassandra was stroking Trevelyan's arm absentmindedly, looking at the setting sun.

At some point someone knocked at the door.

"My sincere apologies, but Commander Cullen is expecting the Seeker!"

"Forgive me." Cassandra stood up with a sigh. "I have some more things to take care of. I'll come by later, if you want me to."

Trevelyan nodded eagerly. "I'll leave the door open. And thank you for telling me all that. It changes a lot."

Cassandra smiled with effort, bowed down and kissed the back of Trevelyan's hand. Trevelyan knew her long enough to know that gallantry and genteelness was nothing more than a front for more profound feelings.

Trevelyan remained in her seat for a while, listening. Cassandra slammed the door shut and was scolding the messenger on the steps, someone was shouting something in the courtyard. When she stepped onto the balcony, a deep shadow was setting over the valley, the sky over the mountain tops turning pinkish. She leant against the balustrade and took a deep breath, because never before had she seen dusk like this one.

She wandered around her quarters for a while, unpacking her luggage and trophy books from Adamant, irrationally light and careless, considering that there was still a madman, ready to tear the sky asunder, roving Thedas. She read some of her overdue correspondence, even though she couldn't focus, and when fatigue overcame her, she undressed and went to bed. She lay there later, imagining Cassandra coming to her at night, but the longer it wasn't happening, the drowsier she was becoming.

She woke up to the touch of cold hands.

"It's me," said Cassandra, caressing Trevelyan's back. "I'm sorry it took so long."

Trevelyan kept blinking, trying to see something in the dark. When her eyes got used to the lack of light, she noticed a dark silhouette in front of her. She stretched out her arm and blindly reached for Cassandra's face, who caught her wrist and kissed her fingers.

Trevelyan threw off her sheets and let herself be pulled closer. Cassandra's body was hot, lithe, soft nowhere but in hips and breasts. She liked the pressure of it, the persistent knee Cassandra kept shoving between her legs, the muscular shoulders Trevelyan would often grasp at in moments of ecstasy. That time though they rolled over so that Trevelyan would end up on top. Something changed in her too: maybe she couldn't put it in words the way Cassandra did before, but she was no longer a person who wanted to wait for things to come to her. She slipped her fingers into Cassandra's hair, and Cassandra raised herself on her elbows to meet her halfway.

For a long time they were touching in the dark, body against body, skin against skin, and Trevelyan was beginning to understand why they wanted to separate them earlier: it was the most powerful thing she had ever encountered in life.

Come morning Cassandra was still in her bed. Trevelyan kept looking at her, eyes half-lidded, and when she got enough of it, she moved her foot against Cassandra's thigh.

"It's late." Cassandra rolled off the bed. "Why did you let me sleep for so long?"

Trevelyan thought it was quite early, but she decided not to argue.

"Are you in a hurry?" She stretched out temptingly. Cassandra's eyes glossed over her body, finally settling on her face.

"I am." She out on one pantleg. "Fenris must be waiting for me."

"Fenris?"

"Yes, I train with him every day." She reached for her shirt and doublet, hanging off a chair. "You wouldn't believe how strong he is, at his height and stature. He knows some strange techniques from Tevinter and Seher—" She stopped suddenly, crossed the room in a few steps and kissed Trevelyan forcefully. "He can wait, he'll be alright."

Trevelyan started to undress her again, but then Marcie came with breakfast, which ruined the mood. Cassandra got talked into drinking tea and grabbing a bite to eat, and Trevelyan managed to find something she wanted to give her a while ago in the mess on her desk.

"Here, it's for you," she said and handed her a book, wrapped in red cloth.

"What's that?" Cassandra placed it on her knee and opened it, suspicious. "Oh! You didn't have to."

"But I wanted to." Trevelyan sat down on the armrest. "See the dedication?"

For the Seeker – read the short text on the first page – who was kind enough not to seek me out at all. Fair winds and following seas from the Champion of Kirkwall.

Cassandra touched the inscription with reverence. Her eyes were glowing.

"I can't believe you made her sign that," she said, closing _The Tale of the Champion_. "I'm sure they made fun of me with Varric, didn't they?"

"They didn't," lied Trevelyan.

"Thank you, Trevelyan."

Cassandra's stern features softened when she raised her eyes and smiled. Trevelyan reached for her tea to mask the embarrassment, but the hand she was holding the cup with was shaking.

Later, when she went to attend the war meeting, not a single idea suggested by her advisors could put her off, she even accepted the suggestion to go into that damn mirror without too many protests or doubts.

"You are taking it all very well," said Morrigan, sounding puzzled, as they were walking among the countless mirrors.

"Am I?"

"Of course. Surprisingly well, I would say."

"Well, I have help." She looked around and put her hands on her hips. "Since there's nothing here, let's go back."


	9. Chapter 9

"You were supposed to tell me about the expedition to Caer Oswin," said Trevelyan, brushing away her wet, tangled hair from her forehead.

"What?" Cassandra was not quite up to speed yet. "Ah, yes. What exactly would you like to know?"

"I don't know… Something more than just 'we set off, discovered something and got back', that's all. All these reports during war table meetings seem so boring and dry if I wasn't a part of the expedition. And I imagine this time it was interesting."

"I don't think the journey itself was interesting enough to merit talking about it," said Cassandra, chasing away the gnats. Despite the altitude, some bugs were still a nuisance.

"But you promised! And you were there with Hawke. Wasn't that exciting?"

"Perhaps. The most interesting thing though is what we discovered there, our purpose itself."

"And they say it's the opposite." Trevelyan rolled onto her stomach and braced her chin on her hands. "That the journey is more important than its destination. I read that somewhere and I agree."

"Maybe that's what it's like for Varric, but not for me, who can't even put two words together in a journal."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. I am asking you, because when you tell a story, it's usually different than what I'm used to. A different perspective, if you will."

"Very well." Cassandra stretched, oddly flattered, and sat up with her legs crossed. "But it won't be long, I have to be up early tomorrow, not like the last time."

Trevelyan scooted closer, her eyes reflecting the light of the candelabra. The night was peaceful, clear and warm for the mountain climate.

Cassandra considered it, serious. Truth be told, the expedition remained quite extraordinary in her memories, coming close to those classic ones she read about in books. Different characters, a common purpose, eventual team spirit, bandits who should have thought twice before attacking, beautiful surroundings – the courtesy of full-blown Fereldan summer. When, as an old woman, she would reminisce about her youthful feats, she would surely go back to that exact excursion – but she was too embarrassed to share that thought with Trevelyan, so she just started with what first came to mind, which happened to be Cullen's sleeping problems.

They had shared a tent, something she had not been used to anymore, and every morning at dawn he would wake her up with his mumbling and protests, his tossing and turning. Her eyes still closed, she reached with her arm to pat him on the shoulder.

"Just sleep."

In response Cullen muttered something that sounded vaguely like a male name and rolled over to his other side. Cassandra was about to fall asleep again when someone barged into their small tent.

"Wakey-wakey, sleepyheads!"

Hawke had that irritating ability to beat Cassandra to various things – like waking up in the morning.

"Good morning, Hawke." Cassandra raised herself on her elbow and rubbed her swollen eyes. "You're in a good mood, I see."

"I always am." Hawke gave her a content look and retracted her head from the tent's opening.

"What?" Cullen mumbled, back among the living.

"Time to get up." Cassandra stepped outside, throwing his boots at him.

When she got back from the stream, Hawke, a bit less impressive without her spiky armour on,was throwing dappled eggs into a pot, while Fenris, hair tousled and expression sour, was putting on his leggings. She went over to help him with folding the tents. Cullen was making coffee, still recovering after a bad night.

"What is the matter with him?" Fenris asked, direct as usual.

"He has health issues because of lyrium abuse." Cassandra was sticking poles into a roll of tarp. "He's been through a lot."

Fenris gave Cullen a thoughtful look, tying the roll tight. Finally, he said, "Everyone has been through a lot. You would not recognise me the way I was before."

Cassandra shrugged. In Fenris' case, the change indeed must have been visible to the naked eye: a permanent sign of the northern magisters' abuse.

They were eating breakfast in friendly silence when she realised how gradual her own change had been. Not only wouldn’t she recognise herself from before her initiation, but also from a year ago, because there she was, sitting by the fire with the Champion of Kirkwall and her elven lover, the same place where just a day before she was listening to nostalgic tales about apostate life without so much as a blink.

The same people who shared scrambled eggs with her over breakfast or picked their teeth after an evening meal, helped her to ruthlessly kill Lucius Corin. Hawke did it with no small amount of satisfaction: it was her spell, cast suddenly during his depraved speech, which struck him right in the breastplate. The Lord Seeker, surprised, collapsed onto his backside, one of his adjutants unsheathed his sword with a clang, and a moment later everyone was at it, just as if the number of knights from various orders hadn't been getting dangerously low already.

Cassandra was in a slight shock after such a turn of events. Tried as she might to not make it too obvious, her companions still spent the journey back being respectfully silent, including Hawke, who was usually shooting her mouth off relentlessly. Once they stopped to make camp, Cassandra went off by herself to pick some wood, but she spent a long time not picking anything, instead sitting on a stump in the middle of the forest. Poor Daniel was her squire, just like Sigismund a long time ago; it was such a horrible waste.

Hawke came to her after a while.

"I sent Cullen out for wood," she said. "Otherwise we would have starved to death."

"I needed some time to myself," Cassandra said, her voice hoarse.

"I know." Hawke sat down next to her. "But you were gone for so long I started to worry that a bear attacked you, and you know how it is with you and bears."

Cassandra didn't even bother replying. Instead, she sat there, her gaze fixed on the darkening forest.

"I'm aware words don’t really mean much in such situations," Hawke tried again, unusually considerate. "You know what helps, though? Company. It's a cure for many ills."

"Will that change anything?" Cassandra asked sharply.

"Well, yes. You'll feel a little bit better."

Cassandra just shook her head. Hawke outstretched her hand, palming Cassandra's pauldron. "Believe me," she said. "All that shit isn't worth diddlysquat, and I know it, but that way at least you are not alone in this."

All of a sudden, Cassandra was reminded of _The Tale of the Champion_ and something got through to her despite her sullen anger. "I am sorry for your loss," she started, but stopped then. As far as, with Trevelyan, she had managed to overcome the shame of opening up, it was still difficult to talk that way with anyone else. "I do hope you know I wasn't looking for you to administer justice or even find the perpetrators of the Kirkwall rebellion... At least not back then."

"Then why were you? It surely wasn't because of Varric's trashy book?"

"What? No. I was looking for an Inquisitor, someone to lead us."

"See how that turned out." Hawke gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Trevelyan is better suited for that than I ever could be. I know the legend tells a different story, but the truth is, Cass, that..." she paused there, her eyes boring into Cassandra's face, "that I do what I do now more out of guilt, or partial responsibility, if you will, and only secondly to secure the mages' interests, and so on, and so forth. I can see that Trevelyan's made of different stuff, not to mention you, a woman on a mission if there ever was one. But I also know that there's more to life than that, and it's the people that surround you." She gave her a grin, so contagious that the corners of Cassandra's mouth twitched, too.

"If you want to spend time with me now, by all means do," she mumbled. "But it's at your own risk."

"See, that's the spirit. Come, Seeker, we'll look for something to eat."

Naturally, she shortened the story told to Trevelyan to anecdotes. She didn't really feel like coming back to that forest and those stumps.

"It seems so strange that you got along with Hawke," Trevelyan summed up, burying herself under the sheets. "Somehow that doesn’t sound like you."

"And why is that?" asked Cassandra, frowning in mock outrage.

"I don't know... You two seem so different," Trevelyan said, hitting the nail on the head. "Complete opposites, and not matching ones, like we are."

Cassandra smiled in the dark and kissed her knee. She was up for a long time at night; mostly lying in bed, stroking Trevelyan's back and thinking about what she had read in Lucius' book. The next day first thing she did was head straight for Hawke. At first, Hawke didn't seem to understand what Cassandra was on about, completely relaxed, lying on the grass in the garden, ignoring the surprised stares of Chantry sisters and Revered Mothers gathering there for the service.

"Hawke," Cassandra repeated, impatient, stamping her foot. "I'm talking about reversing the Rite of Tranquility! I would think this would pique your interest!"

"What? Yes!" At once Hawke sat up straight, spitting out the straw she was chewing. "Forgive me, I was taking a nap, it's so pleasantly warm here. If this is true, it really is something."

"It's true." Cassandra helped her up. "I would know, I went through it myself, but I would rather tell the rest in a more secluded place, accompanied by someone more competent in such matters."

"Who do you have in mind?" Hawke really was slow that morning.

"Why don't we head for the hospital?"

Due to the number of guard and service units, recently the hospital had been kept open from dusk till dawn, and sometimes even longer than that; Cassandra, to her dismay, had to admit that Anders truly was working hard there. When he saw the line of the wounded and sick stepping aside upon Cassandra and Hawke's arrival, he stood up, anxious. "What happened?" he asked.

"Nothing yet," said Hawke, needlessly ominous. "But we have to talk."

Anders passed his patients over to other healers from the clinic, grabbed his cloak and rushed after them. They chose Hawke's quarters for the meeting, as Anders was living by the clinic and Cassandra above the smithy, already busy at this time of day.

As Cassandra was explaining the problem, Anders kept walking from one side of the room to another, making faces, yanking at his hair, shouting and stomping disbelievingly. It took them a long while to get him to a state that allowed him to carry a proper conversation.

"What else is the Chantry hiding, since it's the first time we're learning about this?" he lashed out at Cassandra eventually.

"Easy." Hawke patted him on the shoulder. "I know. It must be shocking."

"I don't know about the Chantry, but _I_ came to you to use that knowledge to a good end," said Cassandra coldly. "If you have any suspicions, why don't we try and check whether it really happened? Whether I was made Tranquil? Hawke mentioned you have that ability."

"It's not really my ability, it's my spirit companion's," said Anders. Cassandra tried not to greet her teeth. "But yes, it can be verified. Please, give me your hand."

She did so, this time with slight hesitation, which couldn't be said for Anders, entirely confident in himself: he gripped her tight, stabilised her elbow with his second arm and looked her straight in the eye. It took some effort on her part to return that stare, especially when his hand sent off an impulse of energy, his spirit companion showing through the skin of his face in a blue glow.

"Indeed," he said a moment later, letting go of her hand. His voice was strange, distant. "This is a person touched by the Fade, and not only once. The last time happened not long ago."

"In Adamant," added Hawke. "Like myself."

"You see?" Cassandra asked, her tone mitigating. "Next time just take my word for it. The Rite of Tranquillity was a sort of ritual in our order; its goal was to forget about the earthly needs and concentrate on the purpose."

"There are better techniques to achieve peace of mind," retorted Anders.

Cassandra ignored him. "From what I understood, the possession... or better said, the interception... had to be transient. I do not remember any strange presence, only the feeling of pureness, rejuvenation. The feeling of change, but not... bonding."

"A touch from beyond the Veil," said Hawke and nodded. "That could be arranged. Thanks to the Inquisitor we don't have to force it open. We can use the Anchor instead."

"If it is that simple, which I suspect it is not. Naturally, I am not an expert. But what comes next? How can we be sure that what we summon won't just be a demon greedy for an empty vessel?"

"Your lack of expertise shows," said Hawke, without ill will. "Cassandra, this is the basic rule of interacting with the spirits of the Fade: they are summoned by the intentions of the people conducting the ritual. You made contact with the spirit of piety or nobility. If the people doing the summoning have good intentions, good spirits will come."

"Yes, you're right." Cassandra was reminded of what had happened in Adamant.

"It is but a theory though," said Anders. "One that should be properly tested before we can claim success and really start helping people."

"We do have a few Tranquil here."

"But can they really tell whether they want it or not?" asked Hawke, pushing herself off the window ledge she was sitting on. "It's not something we can do against their will after all...?"

"Do you really think there is a person in the world who would voluntarily become Tranquil?  
Anders snorted. "Don't make me laugh."

"I've heard of such cases," said Cassandra. "They were people tormented by contact with the Fade, unable to withstand its whisperings, to fight the temptation... Miserable people."

"Disturbed," said Anders. "And weak."

"That was the purpose of the Harrowing, to weed them out," Cassandra snapped back. Anders went white. "There is a reason why every mage we meet now is an individual of an incredibly strong will, without such issues..."

Hawke stepped in between them and raised her hands. "We're not here to discuss the validity of Chantry traditions or lack thereof. So why don't we cut back on the digressions? Hmm?"

They spent a moment more making angry faces at each other, but finally nodded in agreement.

"Thank you. On the other hand, that's a good question. Can we just take someone and reverse the procedure, just like this, without asking them? We would have to investigate how they were made Tranquil in the first place, and sometimes it's impossible..."

"Hawke..." Anders interrupted her. "You must remember what happened to Karl."

"I do." Hawke lowered her eyes. "So now you should want to help others, in his name. To do it for him."

"A thousand times yes."

For a moment there Cassandra felt very excluded from something important. A few moments of awkward silence later she decided to continue with the conversation. "In my opinion we should look for someone who might want to undergo the process. Just ask around. I'd start with Helisma from the library."

"And then what?" Hawke sat back on the window ledge, her arms crossed.

"Talk to the Inquisitor. And if she agrees... go with it. No talking, just doing."

Hawke nodded her head in approval. Anders, so far focusing on massaging the joints of his fingers, turned to Cassandra. "Can I just know one thing?" he asked. "What's in it for you, Seeker, that you decided to get so involved in that matter?"

Cassandra was dumbfounded. With the corner of her eye she noticed Hawke's frightened expression.

"What is in it for me?" she repeated, significantly louder. "Personally nothing but complications and problems. I took on this task because I think it a rightful one. Out of all people, Apostate, _you_ should know what kind of a motivation that is."

Then she snorted angrily and left the room, slamming the door behind her. Anders caught up with her in the lower courtyard.

"Forgive me, Cassandra. That was uncalled for."

"I agree, that it was." She didn't slow down, but Anders was tall enough to keep up with her easily. "I don't entirely understand the reasoning behind that attack, since I have done nothing but help you in that matter."

"It's a lack of trust resulting from years of experience. Forgive me."

"Alright." She stopped, hands braced on her hips. "And? I can see you standing there with that weird expression on your face."

"Yes," Anders sighed, leaning on his staff. "I've realised that I never apologised for whatever role I had in the events in Cumberland. All these years ago," he added, upon seeing Cassandra's frown. "The Inquisitor told me how the situation had unfolded."

"Yes. Well. You weren't an active party in those events, so it's hard to blame you for their progression."

"You were also right then," said Anders. "I, of all people, know all about running. I've done it plenty of times. And in that situation only a miracle could have saved me. You were right about advising Trevelyan against it. We wouldn't have made it past the gates of Cumberland without a series of lucky coincidences."

"Thank you for thinking that way," allowed Cassandra graciously. "Even though it completely doesn't matter now."

"And that's when we don't agree, because I think it does matter."

Helisma the zoologist, after a long and bizarre conversation, finally agreed to be a part of the experiment, which was something Cassandra could take up with the Inquisitor. Trevelyan was, understandably, surprised, then intrigued, and lastly excited, but something in her reaction seemed fake, as if it was forced.

"Is everything alright?" asked Cassandra, perching at the edge of the desk. "Because you don't look entirely convinced. I'm sorry I didn't come to you right away, but I wanted to offer you a solution, not a puzzle."

"Yes, yes." Trevelyan braced her chin on her hand. "Thank you for doing this. I think we can take it up during today's meeting. I'm just tired and snowed under with responsibilities. I do know about something that will surely cheer me up though."

"Do you, now?" Cassandra tilted her head to the side, feigning curiosity. "And what would that be?"

"If only I had the strength to go to bed..." Trevelyan raised herself off her chair slightly and Cassandra took the bait: she leant in and kissed her eager mouth. It was one of the moments that, it seemed, she would remember during the years to come: iconic, just like what had happened many months ago over the war table, even if the world turned upside down again, no matter for how long. The perspective of such moments repeating themselves over and over again alone, however difficult to define, was enough to warm her heart.

She shoved the desk away with a well-aimed kick and kneeled down between Trevelyan's legs. When they got down to the war room later, Trevelyan's face was still flushed pink, and Cassandra had to button her collar all the way up.

The decision to conduct the experiment met with a definitive resistance from the more conservative part of the Inquisition. Cullen, having protested on a reflex, was silent during the next meeting and Cassandra assumed he had been chastened by Dorian Pavus. She caught his eye and cocked her eyebrow meaningfully – so that was where they ended up in the end, knights of orders that were no more.

Trevelyan dealt with the opposition with an iron fist clad in a silk glove, but Cassandra had been taking the rap of it for many days to come: not everyone had realised that she was no longer – or perhaps even never – the bedrock of the Chantry classic school of thought.

A few days later they opened a small rift on the alp below the castle. At first Trevelyan went red, then completely pale, finally wobbling on her feet and almost falling down, if it wasn't for Hawke, who caught her hand. Dorian propped her up on the other side, lending her his power, and a moment later, electricity cracking around them and the smell of ozone enfolding them, the Veil tore apart in an explosion of green light.

Cassandra led the Tranquil there and left her among the mages, backtracking to a spot at a safe distance. Of all the people gathered, the Tranquil were the only ones not to show signs of unrest of fear, while Cassandra herself, unable to help it, thought back to her own Vigil, the process both long and demanding complete devotion. One time, after day-long meditation she had gone to sleep, and when she had woken up, she hadn't been herself any longer. She had thought back then that she had achieved ultimate focus, indispensable to complete her initiation into the Chantry, but she hadn't even been able to feel proud, empty like a riverbed after draught. If it hadn't been for the help from beyond the Veil, no one in Inquisition would be telling anecdotes about Cassandra's temper, just like no one really knew what Helisma was like.

Trevelyan completed all the steps of the ritual, which was when said Helisma, so far standing completely still, suddenly took one step forward and another back. It made the hair on Cassandra's arms and the back of her neck stand on end: she felt a strange presence, a gust of cold wind piercing through the warm summer day.

Helisma turned around, her eyes wild, looking at everyone around her. Then she tackled the templar standing closest to her, fists raised.

"Just wait until I get you...!"

Dorian Pavus, standing next to her, grabbed her by the waist and, after struggling for balance for a while, managed to keep her in place. Once they had successfully dealt with her fury, and then her crying, they were able to ascertain that Helisma was herself again and in a rush had identified the poor Templar Huysman as the person responsible for her state during the last five years.

Cullen kept clearing his throat, clearly anxious about something.

"I assigned guards to her," said Cassandra, when the council had gathered on the side. "One templar and two mages, incognito. They are to report to me immediately should something go wrong."

"I still think it's quite dangerous," said Cullen.

"If we take precautions—" Leliana started to say, but Trevelyan interrupted her half-sentence.

"We supported you in weaning you off of lyrium, even though the prognosis wasn't that good," she said sharply. Cassandra was thinking about that as well, but refrained from saying it out loud, unwilling to seriously offend Cullen. She was right to do so, because Cullen went horribly white in the face save for his scar, which turned bright, ugly red instead.

"Do you think it went well?" asked Cassandra later, as they were walking back to the hold, taking a rocky mountain path as not to cross every camp on the way.

"I think so." Trevelyan, wearing light mage robes and helping herself with her staff, seemed petite and vulnerable next to Cassandra. "Why? Is something bothering you?"

"Have you ever dealt with demons?" Cassandra blurted out.

"I?" Trevelyan seemed honestly surprised by the question. "No, I haven't. Just with the good spirits from the Fade. You know that demons always want something in return and usually it's nothing good."

"Yes, of course. I was just thinking, about Helisma and the risk of possession."

"I take it you know that, provided your intentions are good, even that can result in good things."

"Theoretically, yes," agreed Cassandra, helping Trevelyan cross one of the most dangerous parts of the path. "But all mages who thought so eventually became possessed or some other bad thing happened to them."

"But you were only called in to deal with the bad cases, weren't you?"

Cassandra nodded. They reached the spot where the path and the first gate met. That route had been discovered by one of Leliana's scouts, back when they were still exploring the terrain around the hold.

"This is also correct," Cassandra said, brushing the dust off herself. The guards, surprised by their sudden arrival, bowed deeply. "This is why I would like to find the golden mean between vigilance and acceptance. I've asked our scholars from the tower to not only study her, but to keep her company, because –"

She stopped mid-sentence, because a traveller suddenly caught her eye. Ever since the Inquisition stabilised the situation in Orlais, combatants and refugees had been travelling to Skyhold; recently the guards had even started redirecting them to the villages below. Those settlements were still in the custody of their organisation thanks to an agreement with the local arl, and the castle and its surroundings were no longer able to welcome anyone save for warriors, battle mages and artisans specialising in a few particular branches. The redirecting, however, was being conducted on the lower courtyard, which meant that all these people had to cross the main bridge first.

That afternoon Regalyan D'Marcall was on his way to the hold: twice as big as he was when they were fifteen, bearded but bald, wearing torn robes of the Montsimmard Circle.

Cassandra didn't give it any thought. "Galyan!" she yelled and started running in his direction, passing the pilgrims eagerly getting out of her way.

"Cass!" He opened up his arms and caught her almost mid-air. Above his shoulder she could see the consternation clear on the faces of his companions. Trevelyan, standing a bit further away, wore the same expression.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait. life's been busy recently!

"And can you believe that she introduced me just as the Inquisitor?" whispered Trevelyan into Dorian's ear. "Her Worship Inquisitor Trevelyan – and that's it!"

"It cannot be denied that it _is_ your main title," Dorian whispered back, ignoring Josephine's scolding look. "Which doesn't make it entirely weird."

"But that was it! I think we can agree that I'm more to her than just Her Worship Inquisitor Trevelyan?"

"It goes without saying, but Cassandra, the way I see it, is a person who values her privacy, so it would be logical of her not to go straight to the point, even with friends."

"It is logical," Trevelyan agreed. "I'm not entirely sure if I like that line of thought."

"I think what you're doing is you're giving yourself over to a Tevinter specialty also known as nitpicking," said Dorian, not even for a while lowering himself to Trevelyan's level. "Surely her heart belongs to you, which, as far as I'm aware, she proves quite often and with great enthusiasm."

"That's true," whispered Trevelyan, sounding all dreamy. "Sometimes I regret that people can't see that for themselves. You know, most of them probably think that she's bad in bed. Or that I am, too," she added a moment later, slightly offended.

"I don't think people spend a lot of time wondering about that," said Dorian, ever the diplomat. Their heads bent low, they were so close she could see the blackheads on his nose. "In my opinion you have nothing to worry about."

"Are you sure? Can you see what they are doing over there?"

Dorian followed her line of sight. At a distance, near one of the walls of the great hall , Cassandra, absolutely striking in her gala armour made of black steel, was pointing out their guests of honour to Regalyan. Shorter than her by at least half a head, Regalyan was listening with an expression of polite interest on his face.

"They are talking," Dorian said, his tone suggesting that Trevelyan was taking it too far. "Like we are. Who would have thought."

"Excuse me for a moment." The Fereldan Ambassador leant back from the table. "Your Worship, is anything the matter?"

"No, no, Your Excellency." Trevelyan managed to keep a straight face. "It's a sudden yet unimportant matter. Please continue, deshyr Tethras."

Varric cleared his throat, huffed and sent her a disapproving glance. "Back to the turn of events, then... The loss of both Raleigh Samson and the Well of Sorrows caused our enemy a great deal of righteous indignation. To steer clear of its consequences, the Inquisitor and her companions..."

Trevelyan turned to Dorian, lowered her voice. "I know it's unreasonable, but I can't help but feel a bit apprehensive about this. That Galyan, he's not only an old friend, Dorian, he's an old flame, and you know what they say about that."

"And again, I don't think you have anything to worry about." Dorian twirled his moustache. "But I can turn to my source if you wish, try to get something out of him."

"Thank you. But please, do not tell him it's the Inquisitor who's that petty and horrible."

"I won't tell a soul." Dorian kissed the air next to her cheek, and the smell of his heavy perfume reached her. "I wish you good luck."

"Better wish me patience," she sighed, resting her chin on her hand.

Outside, beautiful autumn was in full swing, but Trevelyan hadn't had the chance to witness the many different faces of nature yet, because for the last two days she had been stuck in the hold, smiling diplomatically and reliving all the traumatic events of the last battle. The many ambassadors, coming from the neighbouring lands as well as from the Free Marches, were theoretically visiting to transcribe the course and the outcome of the battle with Corypheus, but in fact were there to see for themselves how far the Inquisition's influence would extend now. Varric, proclaimed the Inquisition's chronicler, had been given a task of transforming their epic fight to a form best fit to put on paper. And indeed, a dozen scribes or so were now seated around the table, each with a big stack of drying papers at their hand; every single one of them was accompanied by an ambassador or some other emissary, their eyes roaming hungrily all over the Orlesian gold adorning the great hall or boring openly into Trevelyan. For her part, Trevelyan put a lot of effort into trying to not make her boredom and sense of time wasting too obvious.

"If I may, Your Worship." It was the Fereldan ambassador that approached – the Bann of Rainesfere, whose name Trevelyan could not recall.

"By all means, Your Excellency." She was sitting alone at the top of the table, the throne looming obviously behind her back. "Is something bothering you?"

"I would not go as far as that." The Bann, older than her by at least a few years, was red-headed with traces of silver here and there, the corners of his eyes bordered with amiable wrinkles. "Just wondering about something. I see a lot of familiar faces from Redcliffe, most of them Libertarians."

"I am sure you do. One cannot possibly undervalue the mages' participation in this campaign." She had even told Varric not to play that part down in his retelling for the chronicles, especially considering that it was the Libertarians, Equitarian combatants, and apostates serving under the Inquisition's protection that took the main blow of the Red Templars, making all of them bite the dust in the end. Red dust.

"I wouldn't dare suggest that. I am just curious whether, when the dust has settled, they would be willing to return under the protection of the Fereldan Chantry."

Trevelyan smiled pleasantly, putting her hands together and sending off a few sparks in the process. Varric stumbled over a word on the other side of the table, but bravely carried on, "...like I said, the final attack was a surprise one. The Inquisition agents reported that Corypheus' army was approaching the Temple of Sacred Ashes, that is, a place where everything began..."

"The Circles have seceded," said Trevelyan, her voice gentle. The ambassador's face fell. "As a member or a protégé of Inquisition, no mage is subject to the Chantry. However, I am entirely confident that the new Divine will bring order to these matters."

The Bann heaved a relieved sigh, and Trevelyan a content one, because, even though Leliana's candidacy still wasn't public news, she, Cassandra, as well as a number of spies and clergy members had been working for weeks trying to ensure the support of the most influential of the Revered Mothers. The result of the conclave could never be preordained, but Leliana certainly stood a great chance of sitting on the Sunburst Throne.

"Is there anything else that has got your interest?" Trevelyan asked, politely keeping the ball rolling.

"It certainly does, but these are mostly matters better left off until later."

Trevelyan closed her hand and the flame disappeared. She was sleep-deprived, bored and tired, and to add insult to injury, the hand with the Mark kept hurting, which did nothing to help her deal with irritating Fereldans. "Why, I think we should stop beating around the bush," she proposed, looking straight at the Bann. Teagan, that was his name. "I'm well aware you're here to look after Crestwood and the Storm Coast, or to be more precise, to look after Queen Anora's right to these lands. You shouldn't worry, I won't take them from you. I'm not sure whether you're aware, but I have five villages and a manor in Ostwick in my possession."

"I may have heard something, Your Worship. I would think our concern is understandable, considering the recent Orlesian occupation."

"Indeed it is. All the more reason why you should watch over these lands more carefully. So that other organisations don't have to do it for you, be it during the Blight or war."

Bann Teagan took the jibe surprisingly well and remained silent. One exchange of pleasantries later, he returned to his seat, while Varric continued the somewhat longish description of their struggles in the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Trevelyan, truth be told, definitely preferred fighting demons than diplomats. She had been asking, begging even, Josephine for a replacement, but to no avail: the Inquisitor had to be present at the deliberations.

"Even without the help of his lieutenants, and weakened from the fight with the spirit of justice, Corypheus still posed no small threat," Varric was saying, clearly inspired. "And that's not even the worst part, because he still had the most dangerous of his servants to help him: a high dragon of the Void, possessing intelligence much greater than that one could suspect a mere lizard of..."

Some people let out a stifled laugh. Trevelyan wondered whether they would also laugh stupidly when faced with that dragon. She had never seen one so big, and since winter she had killed twelve high dragons after all, some of which were the size of a barn. She was also impressed with the way Varric managed to sneak Anders' part into the story – not even once did he use his name, referring mostly to his spirit companion, whose role in the battle was highly significant. Enough to make Trevelyan worry that Anders had lost contact with reality for too long, that he would find it difficult to regain it, but the spirit of justice he welcomed into his body was as good as gone the moment the battle was finished. Anders was still recovering in the top room of the Western Tower, entertaining the countless pilgrimages of Resolutionists and Libertarians.

Someone, again, took a seat next to her. It was Cassandra, as always surprisingly agile and quiet, considering all the ironware she liked to wear on her person. "Is someone bothering you?" she whispered, her head pointing in the direction of the diplomats. "Do you want me to beat them up?"

"Josephine wouldn't be pleased," Trevelyan whispered in return. "That, and I'm beating them up verbally every chance I get."

Cassandra smiled endearingly and discreetly put her leather-gloved hand on Trevelyan's thigh. Normally, she would find this exciting, but the pain in the left hand wouldn't let her: Trevelyan had spent the last two nights reading, staring solemnly at the mountains and listening to Cassandra's deep, even breathing as she slept the sleep of the righteous.

No, that wasn't the entire truth. She also tried not to look at her left hand, glowing soft and green in the half dark of the room.

"How is Regalyan doing?" asked Trevelyan, before Cassandra had the chance to ask another question. "Is he well now that the battle is over?"

"Yes, he is entirely well. He claims our healthcare is very good."

"I bet he does."

"I brought him along today, because as it happens he knew the Hero of Ferelden and even fought in the Battle of Denerim... He knows Ferelden inside out, which may as well be useful."

"You want me to swear him in?" Trevelyan got the message. "I know his contribution to the battle was significant, but wouldn't you say we have enough people already?"

"I didn't intend to push it," said Cassandra stiffly. "But I also didn't expect you'd be so against it."

"It's not that I'm against it, I just don't think it necessary."

Varric, in the meanwhile, was bravely soldiering on, currently set on depicting the battle scene. "Morale high, our brave heroes decided to go well inside the Temple, to catch up with the enemy and destroy him there. Fatigue has taken its toll already, but they wouldn't stop..."

They would, Trevelyan thought. She had been so tired, she hadn't even mustered the energy to go up the stairs, leaning instead on her staff. When Corypheus had struck, the power of his blow had caused everyone within a twenty feet radius to fall on the floor. Trevelyan had literally fallen head over heels. When he had finally stopped in front of her, nightmarish, towering over her, she had been sure she would never get up again, but Cassandra had dealt him a heavy blow with her shield from the side, which had got them a few seconds.

In the great hall Cassandra was staring at her expectantly, one of her brows slightly cocked. "Is something wrong, Trevelyan?"

"No, no. He can join the Inquisition if you wish, no problem. I think it would be best if I focused on the proceedings now."

"Of course," Cassandra said coldly and stood up. This time her chair made a screeching noise, attracting the attention of everyone nearby. The Fereldan ambassador once again looked anxious.

"It was an exhausting fight," Varric concluded. "But our heroes had the last laugh. Or better said, _we_ had the last laugh, because, do remember, I was also there. I used one hundred and twenty bolts."

The scribes weren't sure whether they were supposed to write that part down. Trevelyan, chin braced on her hand, was watching Cassandra's retreating back, angry at herself for that unnecessary quarrel. To make matters worse, she missed the climax of the story, that is, the killing of Corypheus, which left her wondering whether Varric actually did it justice. Truth be told, it was quite pathetic: Trevelyan had tried to throw him into the Fade, but hadn't managed to open the rift in the Veil; he had grabbed her left hand, raised her up in the air and would probably have dealt with her right then and there if it hadn't been for her companions, who had attacked him from behind. With Corypheus trying to get rid of them, Trevelyan, still dangling in his grasp like a half-empty sack, had made a fist with her free hand and pierced him with a spirit lance, just like she had done with the Nightmare in the Fade. Corypheus had fallen and she had torn him between the dimensions, and then fallen to her backside, hurting her tailbone in the process.

"Why don't we take a break?" suggested Josephine, putting the quill aside. "The time is getting late, we must all be tired. Let us have something to eat."

At the wave of her hand, the room filled with pageboys holding trays full of cold snacks. One of said trays ended up in front of Trevelyan, but she didn't feel like eating. She saw Leliana gesturing at her, stood up and left for the garden. It was empty, probably because everyone went inside to eat – still, they both stopped by the shrubbery, where most secret conversations were usually being held.

"What's going on?" asked Trevelyan, rolling up her sleeves.

"Nothing serious." Leliana's expression suggested the contrary. "I mean, unfortunately, it has been brought to my attention that the ambassadors think you don't take them entirely seriously."

"Come again? Let them try and sit for two days straight, listening to a pompous dwarf tell the story of their life."

"I understand it is wearisome, but let me tell you, the hardest part has only just begun. They will try to undermine you. Considering the information we have from Ferelden, they will probably insist on disbanding the Inquisition and dispersing its forces all over the Fereldan organisations..."

Leliana kept talking while Trevelyan fastened her eyes on the door to the chapel. Someone left them half open, revealing the interior illuminated with the glass work. It was probably Cullen. Trevelyan had once joked that it must be because he lived in a barn that he so often didn't close the door behind him, but Cassandra reprimanded her for her insensitivity, pointing out that Cullen was a peasant's son and could actually take offence for that.

"If I understood the message from Val Royeaux correctly," Leliana continued, "Orlais will probably try to incorporate us, claiming it's only to help us—"

"No," said Trevelyan.

Leliana looked lost for a while. "No? Like I said, it's not entirely sure—"

"No," Trevelyan repeated, arms folded across her chest. "That's enough. I won't be returning to this meeting. Let Josephine take it in my stead."

"Excuse me?" Leliana shook her head. "We have discussed it. You have to play it out personally. I am aware that after a war campaign spanning two countries it must seem boring—"

"I _have_ to?" Trevelyan feigned surprise. "I mean, I know, the council and the support before the conclave and so on, but I would hardly say I _have_ to."

"I understand you may feel discouraged, but—"

"Let me stop you right there. I am entirely convinced that the Ambassador or practically any other member of the council can take my place there, that's the first matter. The second, have I ever complained?"

Leliana considered it for a moment and then nodded. "Well, yes, you have a certain tendency to do that in stressful situations."

"That's true, I won't deny it," Trevelyan agreed. "But have I ever stopped and said 'that's as far as I will go'? Or 'go alone to that damn desert'? Or 'I won't be taking back that hold, I don't give a damn'? By which I mean, have I ever refused to do my job?"

"No, you're right." Leliana frowned. It was clear that her analytical mind had already moved on to try and find different solutions to the problem. "So why now?"

"Because now I've had enough." The pain in her left hand was so overwhelming she had to make a fist. It got Leliana's attention. She tilted her head to the side. "This... this is nothing."

"Does it hurt? Are you feeling unwell?"

"No, it's not that." She stuck her hand into the spacious sleeve of her robe. "This is where I draw the line, Leliana, this is where I say that there are more important things than meaningless conversations with the Fereldan ambassador—"

"You _are_ unwell," Leliana said and squinted. "It's the Mark. You're sick."

"No, I mean, maybe a little, but I would've refused regardless of that," Trevelyan assured her, taking a step back. "I need rest and solitude. Tell everyone that something important has come up and the Inquisition's Ambassador—"

"Someone has to see it." Leliana blocked her way, and Trevelyan, suddenly panicked, retreated into the bushes and fled. Tiredness and fatigue made it feel like she was struggling against air like it was water; suddenly she felt hot, way hotter than she should this time of year.

"Inquisitor! Wait up!"

Trevelyan, determined, was pushing forward, ignoring all pleas for stopping. She went out onto the cloister, took a sharp turn and headbutted a hard object covered in bear fur.

"Trevelyan." Cullen steadied her at the elbow. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine."

"I don't think so," said Dorian, letting go of Cullen's arm. With an Orlesian sausage held in his fingers he pointed to Trevelyan's left arm, which was drawn up to her chest. In the shadows cast by the arcades it pulsated with a green light, resembling that of an aurora. "It doesn't look so good."

"Commander, Altus Pavus." Leliana caught up with them. "I'm afraid our Inquisitor isn't feeling well."

"So we can see," said Cullen, suddenly aware that at some point Trevelyan had stopped fighting the arm he was keeping her in place with, and instead started leaning against it. "Hospital?"

"No, no. I'm fine, I just need to sleep."

"Those quacks won't help her," said Dorian, still waving his sausage around. "I'd say Solas, but we all know how that turned out... So Anders of Anderfels it is. You'll see Anders, won't you, Trevelyan?"

"Maybe later, now I need to rest for a while."

"Let's go." They decided without really involving her. Cullen grabbed her gently at the waist, even though she tried to push his arm back, and took the course for the tower. The confrontation with Leliana had deprived Trevelyan of all powers, to a point where she didn't even feel able to join the conversation about her health, competences and prerogatives anymore.

They lead her to her quarters atop the tower through the back entrance and laid her in bed. Dorian brought her tea and warmed the sheets with the touch of his hands, and suddenly she felt so heavy and comfortable that she fell asleep. She dreamt of a turquoise ocean, herself wading through water, dressed the way she usually was when she was twenty years old, in a long dress snug against her wet thighs.

When she awoke, it was dark outside. Her hand was still glowing, a sick-looking shine, but it didn't hurt anymore. Someone was standing by the fireplace, warming their hands against the fire.

"Cassandra?" Trevelyan asked, her voice weak.

"Sadly, no," said the person, turning to face her. They were definitely too thin and longhaired for Cassandra. Anders. "How are you feeling, my dear?"

"Hungover," admitted Trevelyan, hoisting herself up on the bed. "What's the conclusion? Am I dying?"

"Stop that," Anders snorted. "Nothing of the sort. You were right, you really are exhausted."

"And that's all? That's why I glow in the dark?"

"Unfortunately your body's reacting to the exhaustion by rejecting the foreign element, that is, the Anchor." He rubbed his hands together and sat at the edge of the bed. "Think about it: this year, you've exploited yourself past the limits of what's possible. You've crossed all of Thedas there and back again, participated in several battles, done the impossible. And after the last battle, another stressful event approached. Add to that someone throwing you off-balance..."

"Sounds likely enough," mumbled Trevelyan, massaging her forehead. "Did someone visit me?"

"I didn't let anybody in. What you need is rest, and they tried to bury you under some papers to sign."

"Even Cassandra?" Her voice wobbled slightly on that last syllable. Anders noticed that.

"She haven't come yet," he said gently. "I've heard Josephine trapped her at the proceedings. She was only informed that you are alright."

"Looks like Josephine is the true grey eminence in our organisation."

"Definitely. Everyone here can be argued with but her. Which doesn't change the fact that she rode you into the ground like a horse during a race."

"This horse isn't going anywhere anymore," Trevelyan agreed. Her legs felt heavy like the stone this hold was built from.

"That is correct. I would even say that this horse should rest elsewhere, not here, where everything screams politics, war, Chantry and all these things."

"I can't go home," she protested. "I told you... I need to sell the manor... I can't live there."

"I know, I remember. Don't worry, we'll find you a better place. I think we can afford to send you to Antiva, or to some hot springs in Orlais."

"I guess so," she nodded. "I guess we do."

Anders sent her a smile. In the half-dark room he looked significantly younger and suddenly she was reminded of their encounter during her Grand Escape of the Year 9:23.

"I can't believe we're here," she snorted.

"Where?" Anders sounded confused.

"Here, where we are. Myself, with an ancient elven mark attached to my hand for good, and you, with your spirit companion – also for good, sitting in the top room of the tower, and below us the great hall full of diplomats from all around the world, unaware that we are trying to ensure that the most revolutionary Divine in the history of the world is seated on the Sunburst Throne."

"Ah, you meant it that way. I have to admit, the turn of events is unusual."

"A coincidence," Trevelyan said and waved her hand.

"Oh, definitely not. It may be unusual, but definitely not coincidental."

"Fine, that I can agree with."

He ruffled her hair gently. His hand was pleasantly warm. "I have to go feed the cats, I'm sure no one remembered to do that. I'll come by later."

"Thanks, Anders."

When he left, she expected to hear the beating of footsteps against the stairs, but there was nothing but silence, suggesting that the ceremonial part in the great hall also came to an end. Cassandra was probably angry with her and didn't even want to check whether Anders had to cut her arm off. Trevelyan glanced at her unruly hand, trying to imagine how it would be not to have it: she wouldn't be able to wave her spirit blade around anymore, or hold a slice of bread to put some butter on it, braid her hair, do up the many outfits her tailor persistently accessorized with a lot of buttons, fight with her staff, and finally hold Cassandra's breast when they were having sex.

She stood carefully. The room was dark, she could barely tell the contours of the furniture. She had to lit the candles in the candelabras and on the desk; then she wrapped a blanket around herself and sat down in the armchair, looking for something to read.

Someone knocked at the door downstairs.

"You may enter, but officially it's closed for business," she called. "I can't sign anything or make any decisions."

"I think I'll manage," said Cassandra, emerging from behind the balustrade. "Forgive me for not coming to see you sooner, but I had to fulfil my responsibilities and take part of yours."

Upon seeing her Trevelyan was flooded with a feeling so warm and disarming, she couldn't utter a single word.

"Anders said you'll be alright...?" Cassandra approached her, suspicious, head tilted to the side. "Trevelyan...?"

"Yes, yes. I was just looking for something to read." She stood up and wobbled on her feet. Cassandra surged forward to support her and Trevelyan, thankful, leant against her arm. "I'm glad you came. I thought you were angry with me."

"I was for a while," said Cassandra seriously, one of her hands coming to rest at the small of Trevelyan's back. "But I realised you were simply jealous. With no reason, I may add."

Trevelyan looked at her, her expression petulant.

"He even asked me about you," Cassandra continued, a glint in her eye. "He noticed there was something between us."

"Did he? And what did you tell him?"

"That I would take you home to meet my parents if it weren't for the fact that you had already met them."

Trevelyan gave a short huff of laughter, strategically assuming the position that would call for Cassandra to embrace her. Cassandra did just that. She smelled of outdoors.

"Did you tell him your father detests me?"

"He'll have to find a way to deal with that." Cassandra raised her eyebrows comically. "Because we are supposed to go to Nevarra. You will get your rest there, and my parents will stop complaining about me never visiting. What do you think?"

Trevelyan didn't even think about that possibility before. "I guess... they will do fine here without us. Won't they? I've done all I could."

"You did even more than that, and this proves it." With that, Cassandra raised Trevelyan's left hand and put it to her mouth. "We leave tomorrow. Leliana will send a raven first."


	11. Chapter 11

The cavalcade of horses and mules made its way down from the mountains to the Hinterlands, and then turned left at the crossroads and stopped in a village called Derry, where a carriage and a luggage cart were waiting. Trevelyan, who had earlier wholeheartedly protested against travelling in a carriage, after a long day of walking down mountain passes got inside without so much as batting an eyelash. It was one of those cutting-edge kinds, lent to the Inquisition by an Orlesian marquis who was convinced that if he didn't appease them with gifts, they would take over his lands. Josephine did nothing to disabuse him of that notion, and so just this month they had also received two copper clawfoot bathtubs, as well as a set of decorative saddles and curbs.

Cassandra rode on horseback next to the carriage and every now and then would look to the side nonchalantly, pretending she was interested in the diverse Fereldan landscape, but in fact secretly watching Trevelyan. She was slowly getting her colours and poise back, but the journey seemed to be wearing her down considerably, which in turn made Cassandra think back to all these moments she hurried Trevelyan up and wouldn't even let her stop to eat a sandwich. Trevelyan, in addition to opening and closing the rifts in the Veil, which was done by means of almost superhuman effort, also fought dragons and Templars, even though she had no proper training, and participated in strenuous expeditions into demanding regions of the world. Mages depended mostly on their willpower, true, but that couldn't be an infinite stock after all.

"Stop staring at me," Trevelyan told Cassandra when they stopped for the night. "It's unnerving."

Cassandra stopped. She waited for Trevelyan to fall asleep and then drew back the tent flap to let some light inside. Trevelyan slept curled up on her bedroll like a cat, a frown on her forehead and brow, a flash of grey in her hair. Her features seemed to have sharpened during the last few weeks; she definitely lost weight, her breasts could now fit in Cassandra's hands and her hipbones started to protrude. The thing most responsible for her current state was glowing deceptively, its light resembling that of an aurora.

Anders, pressed against the wall of the hold when Cassandra's temper had finally got the better of her, had kept assuring her there had been nothing he could do. "It's like my illness," he had said and grabbed Cassandra's wrists, because her fists had been clenched on the tails of his coat. "No healer can cure that. She needs to rest, get some sleep, eat decently and not use the Mark at all."

Cassandra had kept her stare fixed on him for a while longer, trying to inspire the kind of fear that usually loosens a person's tongue, but finally realised it was not getting her anywhere. "Fine," she had grumbled, letting go of him. Anders had brushed himself off grudgingly. "I apologise. I care too much."

"If you do care, take her away for the winter. Preferably somewhere that's not cold and where it doesn't rain a lot."

She had glanced at his contorted fingers as if by reflex.

"Yes, I could use some of that myself."

The hastily assembled entourage consisted of the Inquisitor, her Right Hand, five guardsmen, one healer and the Ambassador, adamant about not appointing anyone in her stead. There were also five mules with luggage consisting mostly of Josephine's outfits, as well as gifts for the Pentaghasts and for other Nevarran noblemen.

With Leliana going away to Val Royeaux come winter to prepare for the Conclave, there was only Cullen, used to Fereldan winters, left to stay in the mountain hold. Cassandra was secretly glad to depart to the lowlands. She wouldn't admit to it under torture but she really loathed the mountains, snow, wind and everything it entailed.

From Derry they headed out to Jader, where there was a ship waiting to take them to Cumberland. The sea was tumultuous this time of the year, and it soon turned out that Josephine suffered from seasickness. She spent most of the journey in her cabin, drinking the various potions the healer made for her. Cassandra, who preferred the sea over mountains, wasn't complaining. Her eyes fixed on the land visible on the horizon, she was thinking about Hawke and how far she could have got.

She and Fenris had left the day before Cassandra and Trevelyan.

"Come here," Hawke had said then, pulling Cassandra to herself with a strong arm. "If only things were different, who knows where we would've ended up," she had whispered hotly into Cassandra's ear, patting her on the back as she would have an old companion. Cassandra had pulled back, shocked. Her ears must have been red like boiled crabs.

Hawke had hugged Trevelyan and Cullen, and then got on her horse. Fenris, more temperate when it came to goodbyes, had been already sitting in the saddle, staring longingly at the gates.

"Have a safe journey," Anders had said and Cassandra had realised that something had been wrong.

"Aren't you taking him with you?"

"We're going to Weisshaupt and he doesn't want to go home," Hawke had explained.

"I don't want to go to the Grey Wardens," Anders had clarified. "Not after what they've done recently. No way."

"But why do we—"

"The Inquisitor gave him a task," Hawke had said, putting on her gloves. "Let him carry it out. It's not like you have people to spare, do you?"

Trevelyan, leaning on her staff, had nodded. "She has a point. And we do need a healer for your father, don't we?"

And that had been it. Aboard the ship ploughing bravely through the sea, Cassandra met Anders' eyes – he was standing by the gunwale. It was a conniving glance – one of those that were capable of telling the whole story in a matter of seconds. Cassandra didn't let it last too long as not to make it awkward, her eyes returning to the stormy waters. Later, when they were unloading at the docks and crossing the city, everyone was thinking about the same thing, but no one said anything. To fill the wearisome silence, Josephine kept asking about sights, but Cassandra could hardly remember anything, save for a few generalities. Luckily, Anders turned out to be a real treasure trove when it came to the city and its College, which begged the question of how much time exactly he spent there.

Cumberland seemed to be shutting down for winter, because many manufactories were out of service, and stores – closed. The Summer Palace, no longer housing the royal family, looked cold and inhospitable. With the corner of her eye, Cassandra noticed Trevelyan giving it a long, nostalgic look. Perhaps she was right to do it – it was in the chamber on top of that tower that they were swept away in the kind of rapture one still thought about during long, cold nights ten years later.

Trevelyan glanced at her suspiciously. Cassandra's face must have betrayed her thoughts somehow.

When the vineyard emerged from beyond the forest, Cassandra smiled in spite of herself. The smile withered away as soon as she saw the wall surrounding the estate and a considerable part of the park. No one told her it had been built.

When they reached the main entrance, she turned around to face the entourage. "Remember what we talked about," she said, raising her forefinger. "We're travelling with healer Henrik, that's the first thing."

Everyone nodded obediently. Anders mumbled something about the choice of the name.

"And the second – behave."

"I'd think that comment is unnecessary," Josephine tried to appease her.

"Sadly, I do not think so. For everyone's consideration then."

"Let's move," insisted Trevelyan. "I'm sick of this carriage."

It was not without difficulties, as a young and quite blunt man standing guard not only didn't recognise Cassandra, but also the signs on the outfits of the people in their entourage. Once Josephine intervened – Cassandra was so angry she was unable to speak – he let them inside. When they entered the courtyard, stable boys, a few servants and even the old governess Sabra came to greet them, but Cassandra didn't see any members of her family. Instead, there was a strange woman dressed in riding clothes.

"Welcome, my honoured guests," she said, opening her arms in a welcoming gesture.

Cassandra jumped off of her horse, noticing a surprised look that Trevelyan and Josephine exchanged.

"Lady...?"

"Cassandra?" The stranger, instead of bowing or curtsying, stepped forward and, to Cassandra's surprise, embraced her. She was so short it must have looked ridiculous.

"Isadora, am I correct?" Cassandra asked, awkwardly putting one of her arms around the woman. "I apologise for not recognising you out right. They never sent me your miniature."

"Don't worry about it." Isadora was all but gracious in accepting this unquestionable faux pas. "It's lovely to finally meet you. I've heard so much about you—"

"This is my sister-in-law," Cassandra interrupted her, turning around to the procession. " Lady Isadora Ackart of Perendale."

"Sister-in-law?" Trevelyan slid out of the carriage, waving her hand at the guardsmen willing to help her. "Anthony got married? I had no idea!"

"Some time ago," Isadora said, looking around as if she was searching for someone. Finally she fixed her eyes on Trevelyan. "Your Worship."

"Just 'Trevelyan' will do." Trevelyan kindly shook her hand. Compared to her, Anthony's wife seemed small and bland. There was nothing special about her, save maybe for her eyes: strikingly blue and sharp. "Cassandra didn't share the good news."

It seemed that everyone chose this exact moment to look at Cassandra, who just shrugged. "It didn't come up."

Josephine came to her rescue, starting to introduce everyone using their full titles and complimenting the manor. Cassandra took advantage of that moment to examine the estate: it looked as if, in addition to building the wall, they had also renovated the stables. Even though in theory it all looked much better, she found herself unpleasantly surprised. Every time she visited home, she was convinced everything would stay the same.

Once everyone had been properly greeted, Isadora efficiently delegated the tasks to the servants and invited the guests, master Henrik included, inside. Trevelyan was looking around with a content smile. "I didn't believe I would ever end up here again," she said, catching up with Cassandra on the steps to the first floor. "It's unreal. But you could have mentioned a few things."

Cassandra nodded. Since she had last visited the estate, her rooms had been changed to Isadora's quarters and when she stuck her head inside, the decor and furniture were completely different from what she was used to. For the duration of their stay she was assigned, ironically enough, the guest quarters Trevelyan used to live in with the best canopy bed. Trevelyan and Josephine were staying in adjourning quarters on both sides; Anders-Henrik wasn't included on the list of the most respected guests and as such was given a room in the servants' wing. Cassandra found it admirable when he didn't bat an eye at that and even expressed his joy at the view of the courtyard.

When everyone was unpacking and refreshing themselves after the long journey, Cassandra threw off her armour, splashed some water on her face and chose one of the outfits Josephine had had packed for her: breeches made of calfskin and a silk doublet so tight it made bending down difficult. She patted her hair down and ran downstairs, where Isadora was managing the kitchen staff.

"I don't mean to be rude, but I remember my family consisting of more people."

"They're talking a walk," Isadora explained, looking somewhere over Cassandra's shoulder. "I sent for them. They should be here shortly."

"You didn't go with them?"

"I returned early. I had a feeling you'd arrive soon."

"That's very kind of you. But there's no need for you to be wary of me, Isadora."

"I'm not," Isadora said and shook her head. She had a very pleasant laugh. "You're just... very impressive in person."

"That impression is bound to pass once we get to know each other better."

The kitchen staff had stopped their dinner preparation and begun sharing nervous whispers while staring at Cassandra. Governess Sabra noticed that and urged them to work, and Isadora gave Cassandra an emphatic look.

"Putting up with my brother, that's really admirable," Cassandra said, retreating from the kitchen.

She crossed the dining room, the parlour with many musical instruments on display, the hall and entered onto the terrace offering a view of the rest of the estate. The surface of the lake reflected the yellowing trees in a landscape painting style, but the composition was ruined by the wall, encompassing most of the terrain and separating the manor from the vineyard and the northern part of the park.

She leant on the balustrade and took a big gulp of air. People emerged from beyond the bushes on the eastern side of the lake: her mom dressed in a green mantle, her dad clad in black and white, Anthony with a dark beard, followed by Sigismund's red curls - it seemed he had let his hair grow. There was a kid running around them, certainly Anthony and Isadora's offspring that she had been told about in several letters.

She jumped over the balustrade and ran towards them. The earth was moving steadily under her feet.

"Cass!" Anthony sprang forward as well and when he was close enough, he grabbed and hugged her tightly. "When did you arrive?"

"A moment ago?" She wriggled in his embrace until she was able to grab a hold of his beard. "What's that on your face? Sweet Andraste."

"Doesn't it make me look more serious?"

"I don't think so. Mum, you look stunning." Her mother seemed fragile and petite in her embrace, but it was her father that shocked her the most: up close she could see how white his hair turned and how old his face looked. He was also leaning on a cane. "Dad."

"Cassandra." He just shook her hand. "I'm glad to finally see you."

"I brought you the best healer in this part of Thedas," she said quickly, trying to cover up for the awkwardness. "His name's A... Henrik Grim. He'll help you, you'll see."

"Have you met Robert?" Anthony asked, pointing to his son. He looked exactly like they did when they were children, save for his blue eyes. "Rob, here, this is your aunt, the Hero of Orlais, Seeker of Truth and now, in the Inquisition, uh, what's her—"

"Hello, Robert."

"H'llo," said Robert, a little abashed.

"Where's the rest of the guests, Cassandra?" asked her father.

"Isadora greeted them. They'll be ready for dinner."

He nodded, content, and outstretched his arm toward his wife. Cassandra had a feeling though that it was her mother that supported him when they started heading for the castle.

"Congratulations," she said to Anthony. "Who would've thought."

Anthony, who just hoisted Robert up on his shoulders, gave her a fond smile. "Thanks. I only wish you were here for the occasions."

"Believe me, I wish the same myself." She caught Robert's little foot and he jerked it enthusiastically. "But I couldn't. I couldn't even think about it not to miss you too much."

"You look amazing." Anthony gave her a once-over full of admiration. "As if you were still twenty five."

"I owe it to my lifestyle. Today is the first day in a very a long time that I didn't strap on a sword." She waited for her parents to walk off and then moved closer to Anthony. "Do tell, what is the matter with this wall? Since when does father want to turn this house into a hold?"

Anthony shrugged – Robert jumped on his shoulders – and turned to Sigismund, who stayed behind to talk to the two guardsmen she didn't know. She realised they were there to act as rear guard during her family's walk. "Times are dangerous, as you well know yourself," he summed up. "Perhaps even more so than ever. Sigismund, do you mind?"

"Of course not. Seeker," he said and bowed, a charming smile on his face. He was still clean-shaven, but his face was no longer boyishly soft, but rather manly tanned.

"It's lovely to see you, Sigismund." She outstretched her hand and when he grabbed it, she pulled him forward and hugged him. "What is it then that you defend our family from?"

"Everything, really" Sigismund said, his voice earnest, as he stuck his fingers over his sword belt. "Nevarra is fairly safe compared to other parts of the country, but with Kirkwall so close... We decided it's better to be on the safe side."

And perhaps they had a point – suddenly she thought of Trevelyan's parents, dragged away from their castle in the middle of the night. She flinched.

"Did you have any problems with the deserters?"

"We had to chase away a few, yes."

"Ferdinand doesn't care about that? If they were here—"

"It wasn't that big of a problem," Anthony interrupted. "And it's more of our own initiative. Nothing extraordinary, Cassandra, believe me. Why do you keep asking about it?"

For a moment she wasn't sure. "I was just curious as to the nature of these changes. That's all."

"Speaking of changes," said Sigismund, "we are all waiting for the tale, preferably long, to be spun, because so far we have only heard the echoes of your exploits."

"Exploits," Cassandra said. "Remember when they were still called antics?"

"I remember," Anthony said and patted her on the shoulder. "Come along, my hero. Sabra prepared your favourite roast."

She tried hard to find pleasure in the anticipation to meet everyone at the table, but as she was following Anthony and Sigismund onto the terrace, the only thing she could focus on was how everything differed ever so slightly from what she remembered. They had new draperies hung, different than those she had pressed Trevelyan against, everyone was wearing balloon sleeves as the new Orlesian fashion dictated, and her brother had suddenly grown up.

Dinner was predictably boring. Trevelyan, trying not to show her impatience, was telling the story of retaking the Adamant fortress and the battle in the Temple of Sacred Ashes for the fifth time, giving Cassandra a chance to eat three pieces of the roast. Then Anthony started asking about Ferelden, their father giving his standard speech about the ingratitude and wastefulness of the Fereldans, and finally Anders-incognito, falsely naive, said something about mages, thus giving them a subject to discuss until dessert arrived. It looked like her father still favoured his old-fashioned beliefs and her mother's reaction to them was still nothing but silence; completely as if nothing had changed.

Trevelyan was also silent, eating a chocolate fondant piece by piece with an air of cool nonchalance. When Duke Matthias gave up on the verbal fight with the relentless healer Henrik, she put aside the cutlery and cleared her throat, automatically drawing the attention of all the people gathered around the table.

"The world is changing," she said, breaking the silence. "I think we can vouch for that personally. Faced with such changes one can either react or... step aside."

The anticipatory silence gave way to consternation. Anthony kept looking around, trying to put together what exactly had just happened, Josephine closed her eyes precisely _not_ to see it, and the Duke went so pale his face was now the colour of his collar.

Luckily, the servants chose this moment to enter the room, which allowed the guests to leave the table. After the traditional exchange of pleasantries Cassandra's parents excused themselves for the evening, and Anthony and Isadora led the guests to the terrace for the less official part of the programme.

"I'll be right back," Cassandra said, leaning over Trevelyan as they were stepping onto the terrace, and rushed to the first floor, where her father was just now closing the door to his study. "Dad, wait. I'd like a word with you."

"Would you? About what?" Her father sat behind his desk and put away his cane. "That thinly veiled threat of your Inquisitor?"

Cassandra closed the door. "You're right, she came on a little strong," she admitted. "But Trevelyan is a diplomat now—"

"Which only makes it even worse, especially for a dinner conversation."

"That was not what I meant." She realised that by standing in the middle of the room she was making herself a petitioner, or even an opponent, and leant against the dresser. "As a diplomat, she learned to strike where it hurts most. And she may have a point: Ferelden is not the same country you visited – what? Twenty years ago? Do you find it so hard to believe that things could have changed?"

"Ferelden?" her father echoed. "Cassandra, I would have never thought that you would mince matters so when talking to me. That company of diplomats must have taken its toll on you after all!"

"Is that so? Do you want to put all your cards on the table?" All of a sudden, she was angry. "You think I don't know what it is that you hold against me? You're wrong, I know perfectly well! No!" She raised her hand when he opened his mouth to speak. "Don't interrupt me. Let's start with what _I_ hold against _you_ , and that is treating your guests without the respect they're due."

"Without respect?" her father reiterated, his face flushing red. "I see your blood's boiled already, but – I? Without respect? You brought her here again, after all this time, hoping for what exactly? That I forgot how it all went the last time? Forgot about what you did after?"

"Quite the contrary!" Cassandra yelled. "I hoped you would remember everything and that you would come to some conclusions!"

"What would they be? That you decided to do everything to spite me?!"

She was rendered speechless for a moment there, that pure, unstoppable anger streaming through her, the sort of rightful indignation that makes you see clearly. "What you just said proves how short-sighted you are," she managed finally, taking big gulps of air as if she had just finished exercising. "Everything I ever did was a result of decisions that were supposed to do something good, something right. Decisions based on virtues that you supposedly also believed in. There was one, only one thing I did solely for myself: I let myself love Trevelyan. And it turned out that was the right thing to do too."

Her father shook his head. "They've swayed you. These people you consort with. Your intentions were always good, but sometimes that is not enough..."

"It turns out that when you admire and respect someone," Cassandra continued, "it's difficult to accept that someone else, driven by who knows what, thinks poorly of them. But it also made me understand why you came to hate Vestalus. You couldn't just keep treating him like your younger brother when someone sentenced him to die, just like that."

"Vestalus was a maleficar," her father said, but he didn't sound convinced.

"Vestalus was no maleficar, and Trevelyan didn't deserve what happened to her: years of imprisonment, humiliation and incapacitation. If you want to know the truth, it wasn't the Conclave or the threat of Corypheus that made the Inquisitor. You people created her, you, Ferdinand and the Templars. That day in Cumberland you created the Inquisitor and you sent me to the Chantry."

"Cassandra... I may not be proud of some of the things I did as a result of that situation, but..." He was looking for words and doing a botched job of it; it was after him that Cassandra took when it came to the difficulty in expressing herself.

She had one more thing up her sleeve, a final blow, and in the spur of the moment she decided to land it. "During all this time I was always the most disappointed," she started, "that out of all the people _you_ didn't side with me. Have you forgotten how they treated you when you chose mum?"

When she uttered that final word, she felt as if all powers left her, and she had to brace herself against the dresser. Her father was looking out the window at the dark courtyard and after a long while of heavy silence she left him there and stepped into the hall. The candles in the candelabras were slowly burning out, resulting in weak, flickering light.

She went downstairs and looked out onto the terrace. Isadora was telling the story of how she met Anthony, which apparently was full of funny moments because Trevelyan and Josephine kept laughing. Tony himself was busy with pouring wine from their cellar and making mocking expressions; Anders was trying to get the stable cats to come to him. The evening was pleasant enough for the weather outside to be brisk, but not cold.

She pushed the door open and sat down on the sofa next to Trevelyan. "I'm back."

"Is everything alright?" asked Trevelyan, rearranging her shawl. In the dusk of the evening she looked breathtaking.

"Now it is," Cassandra said and put one arm around her.


	12. Chapter 12

There was a noise, as well as a series of protests, coming from the end of the corridor.

"Your Grace needs to lay down!" Anders repeated, his voice carrying. "I promise it won't hurt!"

"Keep your hands off of me!"

"I need to lay hands for the therapy to be effective. Stop fidgeting!"

Josephine and Trevelyan exchanged looks. "Say whatever you want, but Anders always does his job," said Trevelyan, lazily turning the pages of a book, but really more focused on watching Cassandra through the window: she was standing in the courtyard, her legs wide apart, talking to her brother. Her shoulders, back, thighs and calves formed a harmonious line implying strength and readiness.

"You're right. The advantages of taking him along far outweigh the costs." Josephine looked right through her and walked over to the seat by the window. "There's some tension between Cassandra and the Duke, isn’t there?"

"Oh, yes, there is." Upon meeting Josephine's curious eyes, she added, "Not exactly related to our arrival, or at least not entirely. It's something they've had to deal with for a long time now."

"In other words, there are two angry Cassandras here with us. A disturbing concept."

"It's true, Cassandra really takes after her father. Anthony doesn't, have you noticed? He has a gentler character, much like his mother."

Josephine gave her a dreamy look. Trevelyan replied with a suspicious one.

"Josie!"

"What! He's kind, handsome and he will inherit the duchy after all."

"Well, unfortunately, you're too late."

"I know, I lost my chance." Josephine sounded wistful for a moment, but when she raised her head, there was a twinkle in her eye. "Which is not to say I can't look. They look so beautiful together."

She was right about that: their hair was still as black as when Trevelyan saw them for the first time in Wildervale, statures flawless, faces hardened by the passage of time. Anthony had gained some weight and lost the youthful spring in his step, but Cassandra was in the prime of her life, Trevelyan guarding her secret dutifully: namely, a naturally healthy body completely repaired and cleansed by healing magic, the same one the Senior Enchanter from Ostwick had contemptuously called hedge witchery.

Trevelyan had kept her distance, knowing that Cassandra, typically rather closed-off, needed some time to re-establish the relationship with her family. Her brother had been an easy start, but she was blocked with her mother and angry with her father, and Trevelyan was smart enough to figure out that it was at least partially about her. For all that, she often and with great satisfaction thought back to the moment when the Duke saw her entourage, counted how much it must have cost and then just stood there, his eyes wide open, listening to all her titles. That really was something.

When she looked out of the window again, Cassandra was no longer there, and Anthony was talking to the captain of the guard and the guardsmen. Trevelyan and Josephine spent another moment on admiring Sigismund's charms, stopping only when someone opened the door suddenly. Cassandra barged inside, a basket under her arm.

"Good morning, Josephine, how is your day, Trevelyan?"

"Quite pleasant," said Josephine diplomatically.

"We're not working at all," added Trevelyan.

"I certainly hope so. Would you perhaps like to take a walk?"

"Yes!" Trevelyan jumped in her seat. "Let's go!"

"Take your shawl with you just in case, and maybe something to read too."

Josephine kept looking at them, smoothing down the material of her dress on her knee as they were exiting the room.

Cassandra, silent in that calm, undemanding way of hers, led them through the garden and along the paddock to the western side of the lake, and then took a narrow path through the park. It looked like few people had walked it recently, and Trevelyan couldn’t recall ever going there herself.

"You don't have to coddle me so much," she said, when Cassandra's caring hand came to rest at the small of her back. "I feel much better. Turns out the lack of rifts and giants to fight makes a colossal difference."

"I don't have to, but I want to."

That made Trevelyan feel so warm inside, she could barely contain the feeling. Cassandra answered her smile with a smile of her own. Her hair, slightly too long, was curling behind her ears.

"Tell me, please." Trevelyan clung to Cassandra's hand. "Was it a specific moment when… How to… you realised that you've fallen in love with me?"

Cassandra looked at her, eyes wide open. "What? I'm not sure… I don't think so. I mean, I think it simply came over me and then it was there…. I've never looked into it. And you?"

"Me?" Embarrassed, Trevelyan gave out a short huff of laughter. "I think it was when… There was this party after the hunt, and we were talking in the park. I don't remember what about, but I was cold and you gave me your doublet, and then you kissed my hand, and I went red like a beet, and it's a good thing you didn't see me in the dark. Or at least I hope you didn't."

"I didn't," promised Cassandra. "But I could feel then that something had changed between us. Not that I was able to name it, of course. Look here."

She grabbed Trevelyan's hand and led her off the path. The coastline of the lake swerved up there, forming a quaint cove flanked by a sandbank. The manor couldn't be seen from that point, hidden behind a small cape.

Cassandra set the basket down on the ground, taking a blanket, a bottle of wine and two glasses out of it with pride. The smell of food came from the inside of it, revealing that Sabra had packed fresh rolls with cottage cheese for them as well.

"Food and alcohol," said Trevelyan, her mouth full. "You do know how to woo me."

"I didn't think I still had to woo you," said Cassandra, pouring them both wine.

"You thought wrong. You need to be wooing me all the time."

"Is that so?" Cassandra grabbed at the collar of her doublet. "Can I go for a swim first?"

Trevelyan nodded magnanimously, watching her undress from under her eyelashes. At first Cassandra bravely entered the lake, but when the water reached the key spot between her legs, she jumped and hissed. Trevelyan watched her dive in and swim away, her strong arms breaking the surface of the water with force, and finally reached for the book she took with herself.

It's was Varric's most popular masterpiece, Hard in Hightown. The intrigue itself wasn't that impressive – the main literary value of the book was the key allowing to recognise the characters and events back from the days when Hawke and company still ran the city. As it was, the fragment she just began to read turned out to be boring, leaving her more eager to just lay down, the book shielding her from the sun; hot and humid air surrounding her, she let her thoughts wander to fate, countless coincidences and oddities that shifted people from one place to another, from one time to another, and she got so deep in that state of mind that it wasn't until she heard a loud splashing sound that she sprang awake. She rose on her elbow and almost gasped: Cassandra was getting out of the water, the effort with which she struggled against its resistance emphasizing the muscles on her stomach and thighs. A dark line of hair went down from her navel, until it reached the dark triangle at the joint of her legs.

"Aren't you cold?" Trevelyan called.

"I got used to it." Cassandra got closer, the water, short of evaporating, glistening on her skin. Suddenly, she pounced.

"No!" Trevelyan pretended to struggle, but let Cassandra take away the book and press her against the blanket. "You're all cold!"

"I'll warm up soon."

She kissed Trevelyan deeply, her hand slipping into Trevelyan's hair and ruining the elaborate coiffure Josephine did for her this morning. Trevelyan grabbed her shoulders, her hands sliding off the wet skin. Cassandra, not wasting any time, pressed her mouth against Trevelyan's neck, her hand looking for an opening in her dress, and Trevelyan, eager to help, raised her hips and pulled up her skirt; quite regrettably and mindlessly she decided to wear a long dress buttoned up at the back today.

Cassandra figured that out after a moment and decisively turned Trevelyan around to get to the hooks on her back, thus giving Trevelyan a good view of the bushes where she was almost sure something was moving. Cassandra, absorbed in taking off Trevelyan's dress, must have not noticed.

"Cass." Trevelyan touched Cassandra's neck. "I think someone's standing there."

"Impossible." Cassandra bit down lightly on her shoulder. "I told Sigismund not to let anyone wander over here."

"Then someone didn't listen. Cass!"

Cassandra stopped what she was doing, her body tensing, ready to act, her hand reaching for a sword - but to no effect, as she hadn't strapped one on ever since their arrival.

Another noise came from the bushes, followed by the thing responsible for the whole commotion: a grotesque, rags-clad figure Trevelyan at first mistakenly took for a beggar. Seeing its bare teeth flashing in a hole in its cheek and few hairs on its albescent head, she realised they were dealing with something else.

In the meanwhile, Cassandra sprang to her feet, looking around for something she could fight with. Trevelyan untangled herself from her skirts, rose up to her knees and struck the undead with a crackling stream of ice from both hands. It took one more step and stopped awkwardly, frozen to the ground, the ice column keeping it in place.

Cassandra didn't miss the opportunity: she sprang forward and threw a roundhouse kick at the statue. It scattered to pieces.

"What was that?" Cassandra turned around, her arms splayed out in a gesture of helplessness. She was still completely naked and Trevelyan found it hilarious.

"A walking corpse. It's a country of necromancy and you didn't know what that was?"

"True enough." She kicked the its pieces tentatively. "But how did it get here?"

"Ran away from someone. Or was here for the whole time. Your uncle was a necromancer, right?"

"But it was so long ago… Can a spell hold for that long?"

"A right one? Of course. It could have been lethargic until we came along. Or maybe the workers woke him?"

"Maybe." Cassandra finally tore her eyes away from the remains. "How are you feeling? Everything alright?"

"A dead man caught us in flagrante, other than that it's fine. I'm not made of glass, I fought with you in in the front line so many times already."

"I'm still impressed by every single one of those times," Cassandra said, looking for her clothes.

"Aren't we going to finish?" asked Trevelyan shyly, holding the loose material of her dress against her breasts.

"I'd like to check on something first." Cassandra put on her tunic and clasped her belt. "Come on, I'll button you back up."

With Trevelyan presentable enough not to attract attention, they left the basket, the blanket and the remains of the corpse, and started moving along the lake. Soon, the manor emerged from beyond the cape and they struck off towards the centre of the park. Trevelyan only recognised the spot when they crossed a clearing with a solitary apple tree and a labyrinth of rhododendrons: it had been here where she led Cassandra at night and where they had been driven away by the noise in the thicket. She had been warned against wandering to that part of the estate, but had been so preoccupied with the beginning of their romance, she hadn't paid it any attention.

Hidden behind the barrier of an unkempt hedgerow and a lane of overgrown locust trees there was a desolate villa with a shingled roof.

"What's that?" gasped Trevelyan.

"My uncle used to live here." Cassandra brushed away the branches of jasmine that were in their way. "Occasionally, I mean. He had his workshop and library here. After his death father closed it down."

"And you never came here? Even when you were kids?"

"Especially when we were kids. You saw the thing that surprised us."

Whitewood walls of the villa had rotten through, revealing the construction inside. Nearby flora, its roots, twigs and sprouts, was finding its way inside through numerous holes. Stairs creaked ominously under their feet.

Cassandra stopped before the entrance, as if she was weighing up the pros and cons of something, and then pushed the door open with her shoulder in one elegant motion. The door yielded right away, and a musty smell came at them from the inside.

"You mean to tell me that no one has been here for… what? Twenty years?"

"More or less." Cassandra stepped on something that cracked under her foot. When she lifted her foot, she saw a porcelain cup.

The villa looked like a place left in a hurry. There was a crystal vase still standing on a dirty dresser, covered with dead leaves and bugs, a bunch of dry flowers still inside. The kitchen equipment was scattered and destroyed by small animals. Mice run from under their feet and doleful flaps of paintings hung on the walls.

For Trevelyan, the most disheartening sight was the library, where the books, swollen from all the humidity, could barely fit in the sunken book-cases. The framework of the collection was made of thaumaturgic works, but she also spotted a few extremely rare titles. Most of the books she could neither decipher nor recognise.

"I am very understanding," she called to Cassandra, who was examining other rooms, "but this is just pure wastefulness. You could have brought someone over from the College to put a price on them, or even give them away to one of the Circles…"

When for a longer while she didn't get any answer, she looked out of the library. Cassandra was standing still in the dark corridor.

"Cass?"

"Something isn't right here." She gave Trevelyan a hurried glance over the shoulder. "Why, out of all these doors, these ones seem to have been opened recently?"

She pushed forward the porch door. It opened easily, revealing a tidy space, unmistakeably marked by human presence.

There was no one there, but it looked like whoever was there before, drank wine and ate chicken quite recently, and on tableware carried out of the kitchen. Cassandra frowned and scowled. "I don't know what is the meaning of this."

Trevelyan kneeled down by the bedding. It was made of saddle-cloths and blankets smelling of horses; atop it lay a uniform jacket, the sort that landsknechts wore, with no distinctions. There was nothing personal there.

"Does your dad have any enemies?" asked Trevelyan, after a year spent with Inquisition already suspecting the worst.

"Enemies?" echoed Cassandra. "I don't think so. Why would he?"

She snorted angrily and walked over to the edge of the porch in a few steps. There was nothing but thick, unruly forest stretching out there, the kind where someone could easily hide from a whole division of soldiers.

"Come out, if you're there!" she called. "At once!"

"I don't think they'll take you up on that offer, Cassandra. Come on, we'll come back here with more people."

Cassandra mumbled something angrily, but turned around. She was silent the whole way back, which gave Trevelyan the space she needed to think. As thankful as she was for the opportunity to rest, it was action and intrigue that really energised her, and she was walking alongside Cassandra with verve and enthusiasm she hadn't felt for a long time.

They crossed the garden on the way to the manor, where Anders, bent over the patches, was either picking something or weeding. That sight, strangely interlocked with what she was just now thinking about, threw her completely off balance; Trevelyan realised that they had never even talked about why she had disappeared in the middle of the night from the room atop the tower in the Royal Nevarran Summer Palace.

"…in the study?" She only heard the final few words of the question Cassandra asked.

"In his quarters," said Anders, brushing off his hair with the back of his hand. "I seem to have tired him out. If I were you, I'd give him some time."

Cassandra was already heading for the manor, but a few steps later she stopped and turned on her heel. "Thank you for what you're doing for him. I can only imagine he's a terrible patient."

"That he is," Anders said and put his hands to his chest, clearly touched. "But it's my calling." His eyes wandered over to distracted Trevelyan. "And you, you're alright?"

"Yes!" She shook herself off. "Listen, you didn't hear anything about some other people hanging around the estate? Someone not exactly expected?"

"Sure! It's today's sensation."

Cassandra, who had started walking again, stopped dead. "What do you mean?"

"Well, cousin Wilhelm," Anders lowered his voice down to a conspiratorial tone. "It's the only thing anyone talks about today. Someone blurted out what's been happening to the food baskets that have been mysteriously disappearing from the kitchen."

"Cousin Wilhelm?" Cassandra reiterated, so loud she was probably heard in the nearby village. "Cousin Wilhelm lives on the porch in uncle's house?"

"That's the thing, I don't know where he lives," said Anders. "I didn't think there were more buildings here."

"Why wasn't I informed about this?" asked Cassandra rhetorically, setting off briskly towards the manor.

Trevelyan had to hitch up her skirt and ran a little to catch up with her. In the hall, she spotted her own reflection in the mirror and the grey hair she saw grounded her in the here and now for good.

Cassandra leapt up the stairs and barged inside a room where Trevelyan had never been before. Duke Matthias' quarters were spacious and tastefully decorated, but something about the décor and style made her think about the more modest quarters her dad used to live in in their keep in Ostwick.

The Duke was innocently playing chess with Anthony.

"Why didn't you tell me about Wilhelm?" Cassandra demanded. "Why did you send him to live in that villa? There's more than enough space for him here! I don't get it!"

Trevelyan bowed, figuring that some courtesy wouldn't hurt her. Anthony bowed back and they exchanged looks that conveyed they both knew perfectly well how the situation would develop.

"Wilhelm… is not here officially," started the Duke. "And will probably soon leave. That's why we wanted to keep his presence—"

"So what, we aren't to be trusted anymore?" Cassandra interrupted, towering over the game table ominously. "Did Wilhelm do something wrong? And what is it with this wall?!"

"The wall is a defensive—"

"Stop it, dad," Anthony sighed. "I told you from the beginning it's a bad idea."

"I thought so," Cassandra said, triumphant. "You're hiding something from us. But what?"

"Wilhelm is here under our protection." The Duke conceded with a deep sigh. "Ferdinand wanted him executed. And not only him."

"He went completely mad," added Anthony. "Aunt Lila and Alfred… dead. Daniel… exiled. What about Achim, we don't know. Luisa and Edmund are incognito in Orlais. Everyone who could run away from the capital, already did so, because you could never know who was going to be next. The king's favours couldn't be more uncertain at this point."

"What's worse," added the Duke, "he has been eliminating and weakening the competition so discreetly and gradually, we didn't realise what's happening until it was too late. Right now we're the only ones left. And Wilhelm, first in the line to the throne."

"How could you have let this happen?" asked Cassandra.

"And why didn't anyone know?" Trevelyan voiced her puzzlement. "We had people even in the Tevinter Imperium – and no one in Nevarra?"

"You had spies in Tevinter?" asked the Duke, half appalled, half awestruck.

"Everywhere except Nevarra," said Cassandra. "Because I expected my own family to keep me informed about the turn of events."

Isadora entered the room, flushed and a bit out of breath. "Is something the matter?"

"The secret's out," explained Trevelyan.

"Oh, well… Pardon me for being blunt, but I thought it was a bad idea from the beginning."

"See?" Cassandra said to Anthony. "You should listen to your wife. Clearly, she is your better half."

The Duke sighed and put his hand to his forehead in a resigned gesture.

"I was never a big supporter of that idea," Anthony admitted, throwing a hesitant glance in his direction. "Still…"

"Then why did you decide to go along with it after all?" asked Trevelyan, who was growing tired of the Pentaghast family drama.

The Duke looked at her, his expression seemingly apologetic, but in fact terribly arrogant – the same one that always got on her nerves.

"It was us," she said. "Wasn't it? You didn't want the Inquisition to have influence in Nevarra."

Anthony's embarrassed shuffling confirmed her suspicions. The Duke didn't cast his eyes down. His eyes were made of steel, much like Cassandra's.

"The way it happened in Ferelden and Orlais," he said, putting his hands together. "Remind me, if you will, under whose protectorate are the Storm Coast and Emprise du Lion?"

"All protectorates will be returned once the Conclave comes to an end," said Trevelyan. "Not to mention it's a different matter—"

"Why once it comes to an end, why not now?"

"I don't need to explain myself nor my reasons."

An awkward silence followed, during which Trevelyan and the Duke engaged in a staring contest. Finally, Cassandra cleared her throat loudly. "This is getting us nowhere. During all this time, the Inquisition had the means and the political will to help, yet you decided to keep this from me. You cannot argue for that decision."

Trevelyan shook her head, impatient. "If you'll excuse me," she said, bowed and left the room. Once out in the hall, she leant against the wall next to the door, trying not to listen to the fight that went on inside. She had no intentions of talking to someone who couldn't possibly admit to not being right.

As she was standing there in the corridor, the door opposite of her opened and Duchess Tigana looked out of the room. "Inquisitor?" She was wearing a purple dress with a train, entirely inappropriate for the time of day. Her head was adorned with an elaborate coiffure made of fair hair, combs, and ribbons.

"Please, call me Trevelyan." Having spent some time with her horrible husband, Trevelyan magnanimously decided to be nice to her.

"Could I perhaps steal you away for a minute, my dear Trevelyan? I'd like to ask your advice."

"Of course." Trevelyan gladly walked away from the source of raised voices and entered the Duchess' boudoir. "What is the matter?"

"Oh, it's nothing really." The Duchess approached her dressing room. When she opened the door, Trevelyan let her mouth hang inelegantly. "I don't know what to order for the winter season. I heard that plain textiles are no longer fashionable, but I don't really think that patterns are entirely back yet…"

The Duchess was absentmindedly touching the dresses, every single one worthy of a queen: ground-long, ankle-long, with trains, with farthingales, with corsets, some other elements Trevelyan couldn't even name. Suddenly she was embarrassed by the simple outfit she decided to wear this morning purely out of laziness.

"Josephine would probably help you with that," she said pleasantly. "But I can try. I spent some time in Orlais."

"What is going on there?" asked the Duchess absentmindedly.

"In Orlais? They are preparing for the election of the new Divine, I would think."

"No, over there." With her chin, she pointed in the direction of her husband's quarters.

Trevelyan outstretched her hand and touched the expensive, silky materials. The whole dressing room smelled of heavy, musky perfume, resembling those her grandmother used to wear.

"They are trying to decide what should be done with your King," she said, looking at the dresses. "I think that plain textiles, especially in cool colours, would be a perfect choice for the winter."

"So I have thought, thank you! I have never had anyone who could help me in such matters. It's about time, with that Ferdinand," she added after a moment's thought, giving Trevelyan a more conscious look. "But why aren't you there, my dear?"

Trevelyan opened her mouth and closed it. The Duchess just pointed to an armchair, still going over her numerous pieces of clothing herself. Sometimes her gestures and face made Trevelyan think of Cassandra and she could imagine what Cassandra would look like twenty years from now.

She lay there on the pillows, thinking, and finally she said, "Because I already know what to do."


	13. Chapter 13

Cassandra pushed the door open and entered into the Great Hall, her sword bared. She strode across the floor, her surcoat, embroidered with the Inquisition's eye, fluttering behind her, her presence alone enough to impress the courtiers of both genders.

"Ferdinand Pentaghast," she exclaimed, stopping in front of the throne. "On behalf of historical justice and the honour of our house, I divest you of the crown once and for all."

Said crown, torn off his head, rolled dramatically across the floor, Nevarran flags fluttering in the background.

"I think we should avoid using the Inquisition's symbols," said the real Cassandra, quite flattered by the picture Trevelyan had just painted. "It would have to be our family crest. Not to mention this is not exactly how these things go."

"I also don't think it would be wise to use Cassandra that openly during our operation," added Josephine, pouring herself more tea. "No matter the role, her presence itself will pose an enormous threat, be that as the Right Hand of the Inquisitor or as Matthias' former heiress."

"Agreed." Cassandra stood to stretch out her legs. Dusk was slowly setting over the park, painting the sky with soft, red lines. "If we are to act in secret, I shouldn't out myself there too soon."

"The Inquisitor herself should avoid making an appearance as well," said Josephine. "That is, until the invitation is issued by the new ruler, prince Wilhelm."

Prince Wilhelm, so far mostly silent and looking abashed, nodded eagerly.

"Well, how does it actually go then?" Trevelyan seemed attached to her concept. "Under whose auspices?"

"The house. Both Van Markhams’ and ours. But it's doubtful we'll get them to cooperate if we want to put Willy on the throne."

"Put Wilhelm," corrected Wilhelm.

"Put Wilhelm," echoed Cassandra. "They'd surely want to enthrone that... what was her name..."

"Magdalena," Wilhelm came to aid. "The Van Markhams had been rubbing their hands together for weeks now, waiting for us to fall. But they aren't too happy themselves, as Ferdinand had burdened them with an extra ad valorem tax recently, for some made-up reason."

"I'm sure we could use them somehow," said Trevelyan, resting her legs on the seat just vacated by Cassandra. "Not directly, they wouldn't go for that, but somehow..."

"Maybe pressure them into it?" suggested Josephine. "Diplomatically... Calling for concern for the shared homeland..."

"That's not enough," Cassandra snorted. "The Van Markhams would gladly dance on our graves. Magdalena used to pull my hair when I was a kid."

"She used to pinch me," added Wilhelm sullenly.

"A more direct kind of pressure then," suggested Trevelyan. "You know... Everyone can be reasoned with, we just need to find the right blackmail material. We would just need to send a raven to the spymaster. Where are you going?" she asked Cassandra, who was heading for the terrace door.

"To get someone who actually knows something about espionage," she said. "I'll be right back."

For the duration of their secret meeting the staff was granted leave, so the ground floor of the manor was dark and empty save for Master Henrik's quarters. On the first floor, faint light was coming from under the door to the study, where the Duke together with Anthony were looking for trustworthy knights and Nevarran noblemen, who would be willing to aid them in the incoming coup. The candles were lit inside the Duchess' boudoir as well. Cassandra knocked on her door.

Together they walked downstairs and entered onto the terrace. Upon seeing them, the people gathered there sprang to their feet.

"Seeing as we're devoid of the presence of our usual Spymaster," announced Cassandra, "I decided to invite a former, but equally experienced one."

"Sit, please." Mother waved her elegant hand at them.

"That's quite a surprise," Trevelyan smiled. "A pleasant one, but a surprise nonetheless, because Cassandra have never even mentioned a single word."

"These are so called 'lesser known facts'," the Duchess agreed. "As well as, to some extent, an ace up my sleeve. You must have noticed already that our family isn't exactly known for its strategic genius."

Everyone nodded in agreement, more or less discreetly. Cassandra threw Trevelyan an accusatory look.

"I, however, am a part of it out of choice, not blood," finished the Duchess.

Cassandra sighed, taking a seat next to her. "Mum was a bard, like you were, Josephine. Afterwards, she served as an advisor at some courts in Free Marches. That's it, the whole secret."

"We are grateful for your help," said Josephine, her voice kind.

"It's my pleasure." The Duchess produced binoculars from somewhere and put them on. Cassandra noticed Trevelyan hiding a smile behind a hand that she raised to her face. "In order to begin properly, we would need a list of all supplies we possess, both as a house and as the Inquisition. We will need a list of prospective supplies as well, lest we need to make use of them..."

Trevelyan was highly impressed with the Duchess' skills.

"That's why your father's marriage was problematic," she realised later, taking off the jewellery by the dressing table. "Right? It wasn't only the general consensus that one should marry inside the family, they were also afraid he would know too much."

With Wilhelm back in the bosom of their family, Cassandra graciously decided to free her quarters for his sake and moved into Trevelyan's rooms. She was just now sitting on the bed, slowly taking off her boots. She found intellectual work far more exhausting than physical labour.

"I guess. They wouldn't breach the subject in my presence."

"She didn't look like someone who gave the trade up today."

"You're right, even though where she would have the chance to practice it I have no idea." Cassandra brushed off her boots and put them under the bed. "As you can see, a lot is being kept hidden from me here."

"Consider the silver lining though: we're bound to discover everything, and if we won't, Josephine will, and if she won't, Leliana will."

"I'm not sure about that particular silver lining," mumbled Cassandra, lying down on the bed. From there, she could see the dust-covered canopy. "It seems I didn't really think this expedition through. Which reminds me: weren't you supposed to rest here?"

"Honestly, I've rested enough as it is." Trevelyan opened a small jar, rubbing some of its contents into her face. "Don't get me wrong, but I'm used to action – working from dusk till dawn, strenuous expeditions or even planning with a group of experts... Like today. Three days of reading and drinking cocktails with Josephine was more than enough."

"Alright. It's just... I noticed that sometimes you look so...it's hard to say. As if something was rubbing you the wrong way."

Trevelyan went still in front of the mirror. "That's something else. Don't worry about it."

Cassandra closed her mouth, slightly put off by the way she was just brushed off. Silence followed, where only the guardsmen calling to each other in the courtyard could be heard; then chair legs creaked. Trevelyan stood and took off her robe – she was wearing a silk night shift underneath – blew out the candles and then lay down next to Cassandra with a heavy sigh.

"I'm sorry," she said after a moment. "We should talk about it. It's just hard. To talk about."

"You don't have to if you don't want to."

"I should." Trevelyan inhaled loudly. "When we came here... I finally fully realised that I don't have a place to come back to anymore."

"I'm sorry, Trevelyan."

"It's not about how your parents welcomed me, because they did a fine job. Your mum especially."

Cassandra turned her head to look at Trevelyan. In the dark, her face seemed rigid and still, as if it was a mask.

"And even though I left home sooner than you did," Trevelyan continued, "and my relationship with my parents wasn't as good, if we were to compare that... I was just thinking that if I were to visit them now, they would probably welcome me. Maybe we wouldn't even start quarrelling right away."

"I really am sorry," Cassandra said softly.

"Unfortunately, not matter how often it is said, it won't bring them back. And I know that the reason they aren't here anymore is because I did what I did."

"You shouldn't blame yourself for that."

"Maybe not blame, but the cause and effect here seem clear enough, isn’t that right?"

"I'm not sure I understand. What do you mean?"

"Do you know why I did what I did?"

"What exactly?"

"Helped you back then, helped Anders, voted for secession of the Circles." She paused there, as if waiting for Cassandra to say something, but Cassandra had no idea what to say. "You know, I realised that in every single one of these cases I just wanted to come off as a better person. Better than I really am. Someone... more adventurous, willing to help people, saving friends in distress, finally – someone noble, fighting the good fight, and so on."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"Not in itself, no, and until I met you, I didn't realise a person can live that way, really guided by their values and not just... aspiring to them , the way I did. My whole life, just _aspiring_."

"Come on." Something in that overly auto-critical tone irked Cassandra. "You were willing to do good and you made it happen. Surely it's more important than whatever you've convinced yourself of?"

"You think so?" Trevelyan looked at her with something akin to hope, but the darkness made it hard to say for sure.

"Of course. Virtues are not measured solely by good intentions. Trevelyan..."

"Do you know why, that night, I left the Summer Palace to go help Anders?"

"No," admitted Cassandra. "After all this time, I still have no idea."

Trevelyan rolled onto her side and put one hand under her cheek. The guardsmen in the courtyard finally stopped yelling and the silence that followed was so overwhelming, it almost buzzed in their ears.

"I wanted to gain your respect," said Trevelyan. Her eyes were glistening. "I didn't want you to think all I could do was talk, that I wasn't able to follow up on it."

"Trevelyan..." Cassandra outstretched her hand, caressing Trevelyan's arm softly.

"That's one thing. And the second – I owed it to Anders. They caught him that one time because he helped me. I remember thinking that I needed to repay him somehow. I was stupid, he would have run away again anyway. He always did. I was so in love with you, I should've stayed."

It all happened so long ago that Cassandra could barely recall what she had been thinking back then. Being made Tranquil, as well as her initiation, marked a definite key moment in her life, one that significantly erased everything that had happened before. Whatever had been there first, was replaced by the general feeling of injustice, some historical wrongness, a loss only measurable because it was measured in years, in the distance that separated her from home.

"You should have," she said, moving her hand up Trevelyan's arm, to her neck and finally her cheek. "But it wouldn't have bought us much time. Father knew about us and I know him well enough to know that he would've done something about it eventually."

"Like what?" Trevelyan asked.

"Hard to say. He would have probably waited for you to mess something up and use it then. Or he would have used it against me, after one of our fights. Even if he let us hide it for some time, he would've surely separated us, sooner or later."

Trevelyan stayed silent, processing the information.

"Trevelyan." Cassandra curled her hand around Trevelyan's cheek. "All of this, it doesn't matter anymore. You got your wish: you're free to decide about your life. You could pack your bags and leave right now, and no one could make one comment about it. Well, with the exception of commenting on your manners."

"You're right," Trevelyan snorted.

"I think so."

Cassandra felt at least weird after what had just happened; Trevelyan was, after all, a woman-mystery, while she was considered more of a battering ram or an iceberg. Still, it was the first time everything was finally out in the open, and even though she was usually adverse to reminiscing, the knowledge she gained about past events turned out to be a useful, if surprising, perk – it seemed to have brought forward new aspects of the present day that, instead of ruining the world as she imagined it, immediately found their proper place in that picture, as if they were the missing pieces of a puzzle. She fell asleep mid-thought, sleeping what is often called a sleep of the just, and the next morning she jumped out of bed with fresh energy to plan the coup.

They were working fast under directions of her mother, even if her ideas were somewhat unorthodox and not exactly what Cassandra expected them to be. The spies Leliana sent them had been equipped with food and wine from Pentaghasts' pantry, as well as money from their treasury, and sent on their way to the capital. Josephine spent all her days corresponding with not exactly amenable Van Markhams, every now and then asking Anthony to provide her with scandalous facts about them. Isadora provided the support of her own family, as well as their allied houses from Perendale, while Sigismund trained with the military escort of the Inquisition. Sometimes Trevelyan, with her set of battle mage tricks, would join them. Anders took care of the nearby cats, not having been given any other task.

They met every noon at dinner, where it was forbidden to mention the coup due to the presence of the serving staff, which left everyone struggling to find alternative topics for discussion. They had covered Orlesian fashion, Fereldan customs, Antivan food, the most notable members of the Inquistion, the less notable relatives of the Pentaghasts, they had even talked about the weather and come last day it seemed they would eat in silence.

Josephine had just praised the food and the selection of the curtains, because she was apparently unable to withstand five minutes of silence, at which point the Duchess dropped the bomb:

"Trevelyan, my dear, do tell, what was the war really like?"

Everyone at the table went immediately still, with the exception of little Robert, who kept poking at his jelly. Trevelyan finished her wine in one gulp and set the glass back on the table with a clang. "It was just like most wars are. Long periods of boredom occasionally interrupted by life threatening experiences, and then boredom all over again."

Cassandra let out the air she'd been holding. On the opposite side of the table, Anders adopted a neutral expression, as opposed to the face he had been making just a moment ago.

"It truly is nothing fascinating," continued Trevelyan, putting some more roast on her plate. "I think the only way it differed from all the other wars was that our side kept voting constantly."

Josephine, Isadora and Anders got the joke and burst out laughing, but it didn't register with the royal couple. Cassandra decided to come to their help.

"The confraternities don't have leaders. They resolve major issues by voting."

"Ah, now I get it," said the Duke and laughed politely.

"But weren't you one of the leaders in that confraternity of yours?" the Duchess kept asking. Anthony was giving her signs indicating she should stop, but she must have not seen any of them.

"Indeed, I was. Such leaders were necessary to avoid voting on who should make dinner."

That one caused a general gaiety. Cassandra knew perfectly well that in company, Trevelyan often wore the mask of a cheerful, relaxed person, but if she didn't feel like it, she wouldn't carry on the conversation with her mother and Isadora – yet she stayed at the table until the governess served wine in the parlour, and even there they sat next to each other.

The Duke, however, decided to use the moment of changing rooms as an excuse to talk to Cassandra privately. Anders' treatment must have been effective, because he was no longer leaning on a cane and his face seemed to have regained its natural colour.

"I would like... hmmm... to have a word with you before you leave for so long again."

"How do you know I'm leaving for so long?" Cassandra demanded.

"I just assumed..." He seemed confounded. "It seems you have a lot of plans..."

"I guess we do. What was it that you wanted to talk about?"

"I didn't want us to part on bad terms."

"Is that right? What do you propose to right those terms then?"

"I thought that maybe we could explain some things, but clearly you're lacking a conciliatory attitude," the Duke said, using that smooth, cool tone of his that surely hid disappointment and anger.

"I'm lacking a conciliatory attitude because the last time we talked privately, you made sure to turn that attitude belligerent." She folded her arms on her chest. "By all means though, what would you like to say?"

"Talking to you doesn't make sense when you're so irascible."

"I assure you, it does make sense. If you weren't waiting for me to carry the burden of this conversation, we could surely reach an understanding. If you're waiting for me to apologise to you, you have miscalculated. The next move is yours, it's up to you what you'll do with it."

The Duke opened his mouth to say something, but whatever it was that was stopping him from breaching the subject won. Cassandra shrugged and entered the parlour. Trevelyan was just entertaining the Duchess and Isadora with the story of the countless appeals of living in the mountains, focusing especially on breaking the ice in the barrels with one's elbows. When Cassandra sat on the armrest of her armchair, Trevelyan squeezed her knee encouragingly.

"What was that about?" she asked later, when they had finally retired to their quarters.

Cassandra was struggling with her doublet. "Nothing," she said. "Really, nothing came out of that conversation, nothing at all."

Trevelyan approached her and untied the offending knot at her waist. "I know it may seem inappropriate of me, but I'd like to offer you a piece of advice."

"You would?"

"Yes." Trevelyan slid the doublet down Cassandra's arms and untied the drawstrings of her shirt. "All of us, we aren't getting younger, only older. Your parents as well. You may not have all the time you think you have. I'm talking out of my own, not exactly joyful experience."

"I know." Cassandra put her hands around Trevelyan's waist. "I'll think about it, alright?"

It turned out she didn't really have time to think about it, because Trevelyan's alluring cleavage made her forget about the world, stopping all rational thought. That night they made love in that incredible, athletic way, as if they wanted to store it for later: Cassandra threw everything off the desk and laid Trevelyan there, pulling up her skirt, Trevelyan kicked the candelabra, luckily unlit, and dug her knees into Cassandra's shoulder blades; after everything they even left traces of blood on the bed sheet and spent an hour just laying there, naked, not saying anything lest the magic fly away.

Cassandra was less content in the morning, sand under her eyelids, back scratched raw and knees bruised. During breakfast, Anthony sent a knowing glance her way and all of a sudden she was overwhelmed by nostalgia, even stronger because of her leaving.

Anthony, Isadora, Sigismund and Wilhelm were to set out with them, while Anders, still incognito, was supposed to stay back in the manor to carry on with the treatment and guard the royal couple in case someone was foolish enough to mess with them during the absence of the younger generation. The decision screamed logic and rationality, but its implications rendered Cassandra silent for so long, Trevelyan finally asked whether she had fallen asleep.

Her father didn't appear until she was standing in the courtyard, checking the saddle and making the last preparations.

"Good luck, Cassandra." He patted her horse on the head. "I am glad you are handling it. Despite our earlier misunderstanding."

"'Misunderstanding'," repeated Cassandra, sleep deprivation making her grumpy. "But thank you. We'll be in touch."

"Before you leave..." He looked around, as if to make sure that no one was standing too close. "I wanted you to know that you have my full support, whatever you decide to do. And in whatever company."

Cassandra looked at him, letting go of the girth. "It's good to know. Thank you."

"Understanding some things... It takes me a lot of time. But I wouldn't want us to part angry."

"Thank you, dad."

She hugged him so tight that he gasped. Anthony noticed that and looked at her tellingly.

Her mother had tears in her eyes when they were leaving, but Cassandra had a feeling that her goodbye hand waves were meant more for Trevelyan and Josephine than for her and Anthony. It wasn’t anything bad in itself, and she had always had a feeling that her mother didn't have enough friends, but why did it have to be her friends?

They started heading north together, but separated after a couple of days when they reached the Ghislain Wilds: Cassandra, Sigismund and the escort from the Inquisition were supposed to head for the capital, while the rest of them, accompanied by the major part of Pentaghast guard unit, were to go to the Van Markham estate in Hunter Fell.

"Be careful," said Cassandra before they left. "You should expect the Van Markhams to try and outsmart you."

"I'm ready for everything," said Josephine. "I feel like I know more about them than I know about Montilyets."

"If need be, I'll knock them down a peg," added Trevelyan nonchalantly. "Farewell."

They rode away, the sound of hoof beats following. Cassandra shook her head, recognising Trevelyan's words for what they were – attitude picked up from Hawke. After a meal break, their group set off for Nevarra City, for safety's sake sticking to field roads rather than the high road. Southern green, lush landscapes gave way here to gray flora, more resistant to high temperatures of the north. Just short of the capital they were caught in an autumn rain, in which the Great Necropolis, bristling with statues and obelisks, looked incredibly gloomy. The gates weren't much better – beggars roamed the alleys and most doors and windows were boarded up.

"The despot's reign has finally taken its toll on the people," muttered Sigismund.

The city looked way worse than Cassandra remembered. Neglected landmarks, a cathedral tower knocked down by a storm, dirty streets and ragged looking people didn't fit at all into the image of that marble-built, gold-dripping city she used to visit when she was a child. The guards had taken interest in them already at the gates, but upon seeing the Inquisition's sigil they kept their distance, until the party reached the entrance to the palace.

"What are you looking for here?" asked a guardsman.

"I am the Right Hand of the Inquisitor," said Cassandra. "I am here to talk with His Majesty Ferdinand."

"His Majesty is not expecting such guests today," said the guardsman, looking suspiciously at Sigismund, who was also wearing armour with an eye pierced with a sword. Sigismund answered with a pleasant enough smile.

"Be that as it may, such guests are here. Let us in."

"Absolutely not. We won't let anyone in without prior notice."

"The Inquisition needs no notice, and surely I don't need one," said Cassandra, her stature dignified. "I am Cassandra Pentaghast, cousin to His Majesty. Twice-removed, true, but still."

She saw them exchanging surprised looks. The gate closed and Cassandra gave the rest a sign to dismount. When the guards returned after an hour, they were eating, sitting on their saddle-cloths and travelling bags.

The palace looked much better than the city or the necropolis – it looked like Ferdinand had limited the investments to his own four walls. Thinking about it – and about aunt Lila – made Cassandra angry anew, that fresh anger superimposing on the aversion she had felt for Ferdinand ever since the last coup.

As she expected, their weapons were taken from them before they could enter the Great Hall. They were prepared for that: Cassandra had left her favourite sword in Trevelyan's baggage, equipping the battle mages with cold steel to maintain their cover.

The Great Hall was full of noblemen gathered there for their benefit, but there were fewer people than there used to be. The ladies in waiting looked tired, while the chevaliers and the chamberlain were grey in the faces out of fear. On the dragon throne of the rulers of Nevarra sat gray-haired, weary-looking Ferdinand, who had probably never seen a dragon up close in all his life. Upon seeing Cassandra, the expression on his face shifted from cunning to cold anger.

Cassandra forced herself to adopt a neutral, diplomatic expression.

"Your Majesty." She gave a slight bow. "I am here under the auspices of the Inquisition, not those of my house. Disturbing rumours have reached us and so we would call for good sense when it comes to taxation and..."

She carried on, repeating the phrases Josephine had put together, careful words that didn't directly accuse him of murdering half the family and weakening the state. When she was finished, Ferdinand stayed silent for a long while. The noblemen kept exchanging confounded looks.

"I find it hard to believe, Cassandra, that you would come all this way only to call for my good sense. I do hope you will grow to be more veracious come tomorrow. For the time being, I welcome you into my guest quarters."

"I am here on a diplomatic mission," Cassandra protested. "You cannot keep us here against our will. The whole might of the Inquisition supports me."

"That is why I am merely suspecting you of ignoble intentions, and not throwing you into the dungeon. Take them away," he said to the guardsmen, who approached Cassandra eagerly.

"I suggest you don't let them touch me."

"That's why I'm hoping for your cooperation, Cassandra. I know you can cooperate."

She clenched her teeth, but let the guards escort them to the guest wing. Her mood improved slightly when she noticed one of the Inquisition's spies together with the guardsmen standing in the corridor. Their escort was led to the worse rooms on the first floor, while she was placed together with Sigismund on the second.

"They took the knives away," he said, disappointed, looking into their travelling bags. "But the cards are here, so we won't perish."

"It's been a long time since I last played." Cassandra sat on the windowsill. Looking out the window she could see the garden, currently being watered. "I don't know if I remember how to."

"I'll remind you."

He spent some time shuffling and dealing the cards, but then raised his head and gave Cassandra a sharp look. "Seeker?"

"You can call me by my name, Sigismund. I'm not your heiress anymore."

"Very well then. Cassandra? Would you say that you are happy?"

"I? Right now? Under Ferdinand's house arrest?"

"No, no. In this moment in life."

He kept looking at her expectantly, so she couldn't hope for the topic to wither away on its own.

"I guess so," she said and shrugged. "I am not at odds with myself anymore, so yes, you could say that. Is there a reason you wanted to know that? Are you making an analogy to your own life?"

"I guess I am." Suddenly he seemed sad. "It wasn't very subtle."

Cassandra felt sorry for him, so she jumped off the windowsill and patted him on the arm. "If it's change you're looking for, you can join the Inquisition. With your rank of a chevalier, you'll be made a commander of some unit right away. And you already fill up the uniform well."

"Thank you. I'll think about it. How about a game then?"

They played until nightfall. In the morning, servants brought them breakfast and come noon they were taken for an audience with the king, which went about the same way their first encounter did. Just as they expected, Ferdinand sent them back to their quarters. In the evening, one of the spies made contact with them, providing them with a message that said that the palace had been infiltrated and everything was ready for the arrival of the cavalry.

During the next week the same situation had repeated itself, with very few differences. Together with Sigismund they have covered all the card games they knew and finally moved onto telling each other all the smutty stories they both liked to read in secret. One morning, something pattered against the shutter.

Cassandra looked out the window cautiously. In the garden, throwing bits of ice at their window, stood Trevelyan. She was dressed in Van Markham servant's livery, but in her hand she held her staff with an everite blade. When she saw Cassandra, she beamed at her and held out a raised thumb.

"Get dressed," Cassandra said to Sigismund, throwing a gambeson in his direction. "It's time."

When they were ready, she knocked loudly against the door. "Where's our breakfast?! Do you want to starve us to death?"

A confounded guardsman opened the door. Sigismund pulled him inside and Cassandra shoved him, kicked him in the solar plexus and thrust an elbow into his kidney. In the meanwhile, Sigismund caught the other one, shoved him against the wall and, all the time evading his flailing arms, punched him in the face with his metal glove. Something cracked loudly.

They locked the unconscious guards in their quarters and ran down to the Great Hall. The spy-guard was waiting for them at the corner.

"Everything is ready. There was some perturbation..."

"Perturbation?" asked Sigismund, but in that moment they heard incoming footsteps. Footsteps of many feet clad in armoured boots.

The spy just shrugged, reaching for his dagger. Cassandra looked around, backtracked to the previous room and ran to the panoplies hanging over the fireplace.

"Take this." One of the swords she threw in Sigismund's direction, and took the other herself. "They are blunt, but remember – we are not to hurt them unless we really need to."

Five guardsmen burst into the chamber, forming a tight-knit line.

"They're here! Take them!" called the spy, making his retreat.

They scattered around – two of them attacked Cassandra, another two – Sigismund, while the last one, undecided, remained at the back, where the spy immediately took care of him. Cassandra tipped over one table, dove in under a second one and jumped out on the other side, hitting one of the men with the flat of her blade. The second one managed to evade the same blow and swung his halberd at her – she ducked and then pushed him with her shoulder, causing him to lose his balance. When he leant on his halberd, she hit him with a chair.

Sigismund, clearly inspired, used the furniture to the same purpose.

"That was the perturbation you mentioned?" Cassandra asked.

"More or less," said the spy, evasive, sheathing the dagger. "Follow me, we don't want to be late."

But they didn't make it on time, mostly because they kept weaving their way around the castle. What was supposed to happen in the Great Hall had mostly already happened before they got there – knocked down furniture served as evidence of the fight, and the noblemen, afraid and standing together in a small group, were guarded by knights wearing the colours of Ackarts and Van Markhams. Trevelyan and Magdalena Van Markham were just now pouring wine, and the guards wearing Pentaghast livery formed a circle around Ferdinand, their swords bared.

"Finally!" Trevelyan put aside the jug with a thud. "We were waiting for you. Wilhelm, do the honours."

Wilhelm cleared his throat and adjusted his doublet. "Ferdinand Pentaghast," he exclaimed, coming to a halt in front of the throne. "On behalf of historical justice and the honour of our house, I... divest you of the crown."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys so much for sticking with us! we're almost at the end now. the last two chapters are a bit shorter and so i'll be posting them together soon :)


	14. Chapter 14

"Magdalena!"

"Trevelyan! I'm charmed."

"The pleasure is all mine."

Magdalena van Markham, tall and thin as a rake, approached her, stepping softly like a predator. Trevelyan craned her neck to kiss the air next to her ear politely.

"You look magnificent." Magdalena gave her a once-over that clearly indicated what she really thought about the gown Trevelyan had chosen for the occasion. "You absolutely must arrange for me to meet with your tailor."

"And you with your hairdresser," said Trevelyan. "That new hairdo looks amazing."

Magdalena clenched her teeth, at the same time forcing a smile, which made for a grotesque effect. Trevelyan looked over her shoulder, for Cassandra had just appeared there. In the colourful, fancifully dressed crowd, she certainly stood out in her straight, gray gown. She moved as if she was wearing armour, hands behind her back in the manner of a commander inspecting their troops.

"Magdalena." She approached them and gave a shallow bow.

"Cassandra." Magdalena took her arrival on the chin – she quickly lowered the hand she had just raised to adjust her short hair. "I see even you finally took to dressing impractically."

"There likely won't be a better occasion than my dearest cousin's wedding, will there?" Cassandra flashed her teeth. "Speaking of which, where can I find him? Surely you wouldn't go as far as to lock him in the chapel to keep him from running away before the ceremony?"

Trevelyan felt herself going pale. Magdalena, the matriarch of the Van Markham family and the future queen of Nevarra, narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"It is but a joke, of course," said Cassandra, her voice all innocence. "I happen to joke sometimes, don't I, Trevelyan? Still, some rumours have reached me that your engagement did not come to be without a commotion. I seem to recall something about someone's hair being on fire?"

"These are only rumours," Trevelyan stepped in, because she felt sorry for Magdalena. True, she happened to be bossy, self-righteous and quick to lose her temper, but Trevelyan did, after all, like someone possessing similar qualities. "Negotiations were demanding, but we wouldn't go so far as to use violence."

"Definitely," said Magdalena smoothly. During said negotiations in Hunter Fell, she tried to smash a chair against Trevelyan's head. "These are the ways of little people. As for my wonderful fiancé, he can scarcely tear himself away from the steak tartare, just over there. He's a true connoisseur of that steak, our Wilhelm."

Trevelyan could swear she heard a warm note in her tone just then. It was surprising mostly because at first neither Magdalena nor Wilhelm had been too thrilled with the idea of joining the two houses by marriage. Trevelyan herself was not a supporter of arranged marriages, but once they had extinguished the fire and put all the overthrown furniture pieces in their proper place, it turned out that the Van Markhams would only help the Pentaghasts, if they promised to share the power. And the most certain – if somewhat old-fashioned – way to ensure what was through an engagement.

"Now, all that is left to believe is that the wedding will go off without a hitch," said Cassandra. "Even though—"

"Congratulations on tying the knot!" Trevelyan interrupted her mid-sentence. "All the best to the both of you, Magdalena. Cassandra, how about we go and look for that steak?"

She dragged the unwilling Cassandra aside. It was easy to get lost in the crowd, mostly thanks to the Van Markhams, who had decided to throw the wedding reception in the Orlesian style – there was a great banquet instead of a sitting feast.

"Have you forgotten what diplomacy means?" she hissed, letting go of Cassandra's sleeve. "Or perhaps you never knew to begin with?"

"Maybe I never did," said Cassandra, her tone that of a stubborn child. "I could never stand Magdalena. I can't help it."

"I know you can help it, you don't act that way with everyone."

"I cannot imagine why you're defending her." Cassandra frowned. "You have no idea what she did when—"

"I don't even want to have the idea. What I do want is for you not to mess with her on her wedding day."

Cassandra scoffed angrily and turned to face the table. "If you're done scolding me, I'll go look for Wilhelm and the steak."

Trevelyan let her go, set on avoiding an even bigger argument. She stood still for a while, staring at the chandeliers made of crystal, hung in the Great Room by one of Cassandra's mighty ancestors. Then she turned on her heel and raised her head, trying to find a familiar face in the crowd that consisted mostly of Nevarran nobility. She took note of Anthony and Isadora, occupied with talking to an elderly lady; a bit farther away stood Sigismund with his fiery mop of hair, distinctive among the black heads of Nevarran chevaliers, and a bit closer she spotted a fancy wave of black hair.

"Dorian!"

"Trevelyan!"

Dorian must have turned his wardrobe inside out for the occasion, for he was wearing stunning robes dripping with gold, clearly inspired by Tevinter fashion. When he embraced Trevelyan, a cloud of his heavy perfume encompassed her.

"You might look even better than the bride," she whispered into his ear.

"I wanted to show you, Southern simpletons, what elegance means," said Dorian loudly enough to attract the attention of bystanders. "Finally, there was a good occasion for that – a royal wedding! It's a good thing that the whole of Inquisition was included in the invitation, otherwise I'd be devastated."

"I'd smuggle you in somehow. I won't lie, I’ve missed you."

"I'm touched, really, you touched the very bottom of heart. Don't they serve drinks here?"

"Sure they do. Come along."

They made it closer to the tables, gossiping about all those members of the Inquisition who either couldn't or wouldn't make it in time for the wedding. Dorian eagerly grabbed a glass of wine and passed another one to Trevelyan. At some point, the guests shifted so that they had a perfect view of Wilhelm and Cassandra, who in the meantime had been joined by Cullen. He looked better than the last time she saw him.

"It's my beneficial influence," said Dorian when she shared that remark with him. "Well, I certainly like to think so at least."

"What would your father say... A Fereldan Templar, and a peasant's son to that!"

Dorian sent Cullen a warm look. It was as if Cullen felt it coming: he turned around and nodded at him, blushing charmingly.

"This is not for my father," said Dorian, adjusting the cuff of his extravagant robe. "I decided that from now on, whatever I do, I do because of myself and for myself. Maybe they'll grow to accept that... maybe they won't. I don't really care."

"I'm glad you're happy," Trevelyan said on an impulse. "And that he is. We've been through so much this year... It is good to finally see some happy faces."

"To us."

Content, they raised their glasses. On the other side of the room, Cullen was just getting to know Cassandra's brother. Judging by all the gestures they were making, it was going well.

"Inquisitor."

Trevelyan turned around abruptly, recognising the familiar voice. "Your Grace."

Duke Matthias was wearing a cotehardie, elegant enough to suggest wealth without ostentation. He spared one irreverent glance in Dorian's direction, his eyes finally setting on Trevelyan, who bravely endured his appraising gaze.

"I wanted to thank you for your kindness and help in that rather unfortunate situation," he said with some level of difficulty. "I have to admit I didn't see it coming from you."

"I do try to aspire to the best of us, hard as it may seem sometimes," Trevelyan said. Dorian picked up on the jibe and twirled his moustache with approval. "Thank you and I'll be happy to help you again in the future."

"I certainly hope so. Please accept my condolences for what happened to your family – my wife has told me." He extended a hand. Trevelyan, dumbfounded, took it. "Our door is always open to you, Trevelyan."

"Th-thank you."

The Duke bowed chivalrously, and walked away. The crowd parted easily before him. A bit farther away, Duchess Tigana was enjoying her glass of wine – she saw Trevelyan and waved at her with a smile.

Trevelyan and Dorian stared at each other for a while, baffled. Then Dorian reached for his glass. "He must have been very handsome," he said cunningly, taking a sip. "When he was young."

"Dorian!"

"I'm just saying."

"Don't let Cassandra hear that."

"Hear what?" Cassandra suddenly appeared at her elbow. "Was it Dad? What did he want?"

"He must have been worth a tumble," muttered Dorian.

"He wanted to pass an olive branch," said Trevelyan, ignoring him completely. "I think. I'm in too much shock to describe it."

"That's unlike him," Cassandra said. She was holding a plate full of hors d’ouevres, and her cheeks were red, suggesting she was either angry or had been drinking wine. "It really is. Did he have an agenda?"

"I don't know. Maybe he got used to me?"

"Is that your brother?" asked Dorian innocently, nodding in Anthony’s direction.

"Yes." Cassandra almost dropped the plate with caviar sandwiches. "Would you like me to introduce you?"

"I won't say no."

"Dorian!" hissed Trevelyan, following them in the direction of Anthony, Cullen, Wilhelm and the snack table they had been guarding. Much to her surprise, she saw Josephine was among them as well.

After everyone had been introduced and greeted, they moved onto the second hottest topic after Wilhelm and Magdalena's wedding – the conclave in Val Royeaux.

"Still no white smoke, I take it?"

"Not yet," said Josephine. Sapphire earrings twinkled in her ears – it looked like the Montilyets were back in the saddle, finance-wise. "Our contact confirms that there have been a few votes already, resulting in dropping the less promising candidates. Still on the battlefield, so to speak, are only the liberal and the conservative candidates."

"In other words, it happened as we most feared," said Cullen. "All that's left is hoping it will all turn out well."

"It's politics," said Wilhelm. "Nothing's left to chance."

"I must agree," added Cassandra. "The Grand Cathedral is ruled by the Game, and even if the stakes and ways seem a little different, it is every bit as ruthless and calculating as the one happening at courts."

"About which you seem to know little," said Madame de Fer scathingly, appearing suddenly between Josephine and Cullen. "Otherwise you wouldn't be so eager to see Sister Nightingale take the Sunburst Throne."

"Is that a thinly veiled threat?" asked Trevelyan politely.

"It's a warning. There will be no consent to eliminate the Circles entirely, as there won't be for opening the Chantry to other races. You will tear the Chantry apart and thus will never be rid of enemies."

"That's an interesting observation, coming from someone who claimed to be our ally," said Cassandra, taking a threatening step forward.

"I'm aware that being on the losing side may be hard to bear," added Trevelyan. "But I would expect you to handle it with more ease, Madame."

Vivienne took the blow graciously. She nodded at them magnanimously and left, followed by the swish of her skirts. Everyone went still for a while, encompassed in a baffling silence, and Cassandra got even redder, now definitely angry.

"I feel at home," said Dorian with the air of nostalgia.

"The nerve she has, and so openly...," said Josephine. "I mean, it's no secret where her sympathies lay, but still."

"It means she's afraid," said Trevelyan. "And she wants to scare us, because there's no ace up her sleeve. She realised too late we stand a big chance of winning, and it just slipped through."

"She had a point about enemies," observed Cullen.

"Yes, that's why it would be good to do something that'll improve our image... Cassandra, is Regalyan really serious about opening that country college with a clinic?"

"It seems so, yes."

"It would be good to move Anders there, of course still incognito, and pretend we know nothing about it. Knowing him, he'll be happy for that."

"What the eye does not see, the heart does not grieve over," agreed Josephine. "A good move, Inquisitor."

They did not have much time to enjoy all the snacks, because the servants began to call the guests into the chapel. The members of the Inquisition had reserved seats on the balcony, where they had an amazing view of the ceremony. Magdalena, wearing a different gown than before, was beaming, but Wilhelm seemed like he was having second thoughts, for he walked towards the altar with a sullen expression. Trevelyan noticed Cassandra rubbing her eyes stealthily.

"Are you crying?" she whispered.

"No," Cassandra scoffed. "There's something in my eye."

Trevelyan quickly grabbed her hand and did not let go of it until the end. Cassandra did not try to break free, but when they stepped onto the terrace later on, just before the serving staff started serving hot dishes, she remained stubbornly silent.

"What's going on with you?" Trevelyan decided to play open cards. "You're still angry with me?"

"No," Cassandra replied, leaning against the balustrade and turning her stubborn profile to Trevelyan.

"I can tell something’s going on in that head of yours."

"That stupid wedding made me this way. It's nothing."

"Really?"

Cassandra heaved a sigh.

"I don't like to talk about these things, but I know you won't leave me alone now. I just realised that even though... I told you what it all means to me... you know... being together... But you never told me."

"I... don't..." Trevelyan went still. "It's impossible. Surely..."

"And yet," Cassandra mumbled, completely embarrassed.

"Well." Trevelyan cleared her throat. "I'd expect that, uh, some actions speak louder than words. But in case they don't..." She glanced inside the ballroom, where the guests had just began dancing to celebrate Wilhelm and Magdalena's union. "Very well. I want to be with you as long as..." She struggled to come up with something good and failed, so she just added, "well, all the time."

Much to her surprise, Cassandra burst out laughing.

"I know it wasn't all that romantic," Trevelyan protested. "But it was from the bottom of my heart."

"I know. It was just so very you." Cassandra leant over and kissed the corner of Trevelyan's mouth. Trevelyan scoffed, but it was more for show than out of crossness. "Come on. There are still a lot of family members I need to introduce you to."

They ran into Josephine just as they were entering the ballroom.

"The verdict's in! Leliana was chosen the new Divine!"


	15. Chapter 15

Cassandra was not only unwaveringly dutiful, but also extremely sensitive to sunlight: the very moment her face caught the first hints of it, her body was already beginning to wake up, ready to spring to action. Try as she might, Trevelyan wasn't able to root out that particular habit, neither by going to bed late nor by countless promises of pleasant mornings spent in bed; and so, the marvellous Antivan weather was infallibly shaking Cassandra awake come first light.

That day she awoke as usual, rubbed her eyes and turned onto her side. Trevelyan was sleeping sound, the way she usually did, a frown between her eyebrows as if she had to focus on what she was currently doing. Sometimes, sleep still did not come easy for her. She was mostly covered with hair rather than bed sheets, and Cassandra let her eyes wander over those body parts that were exposed.

She lay there for a while, strangely content, and then kissed Trevelyan's hip, threw off the sheets and stood up in one fluid movement. Trevelyan muttered something in protest, but her face softened, as if whatever was vexing her in her sleep had disappeared. Cassandra went by the window and drew the curtains apart, letting the sunrays into the bedroom. A landscape of vast, turquoise sea and a narrow, white stretch of sand unfolded before her eyes.

"Another beautiful day," she said to Trevelyan, who just covered her head with a pillow.

It wasn't so long ago that she couldn't even begin to imagine she would be spending her summer in an Antivan villa by the sea. The Maker did indeed move in mysterious ways – after all, some turns of events were hard to explain without taking a divine intervention into consideration.

She opened the door to the dressing room vigorously and took out a light tunic and a pair of sandals, an outfit favoured by the local people, especially during summer months. At first, she had stubbornly stuck to her usual, metal-and-leather apparel, but the heat was simply unbearable, so at last she had visited the market square and bought clothes more suited to the climate.

She walked into the atrium. The air was pleasantly brisk in the shadow of the peristyle, and the little pond was full of equally pleasantly cold water coming from an underground spring. Cassandra splashed some water onto her face and doubled back to the bedroom, where she spread apart the curtains and entered onto the terrace. She passed the tea table and two armchairs, hidden from the sun under the awning, and jumped over the balustrade, landing right on the rocky mountainside the villa was built on. There was a path there, leading down to the beach. As a rule, Cassandra did not use the main entrance for the purpose of her morning escapades, because the locals thought her morning runs a strange, Southern custom, as well as a downright sure way to lose the strength needed for the constant battle with heat.

Down on the beach, she spent a few moments on forward bends and leg swings, warming up properly, and then started running alongside the shore. Wet, firm sand under her feet served as a good amortisation, but sometimes the waves would go higher up the beach, the water pouring into her sandals. It did not worry Cassandra, because the very climax of her morning runs was reaching a sheltered cove, stripping off all her clothes and swimming half of the covered distance in the sea. The heat of the last weeks made the usually cool water rather lukewarm; it was also rich in salt with many little fishes swimming under its surface.

After drying off in the sun and making herself presentable, Cassandra would go back up the rocky hill, taking a path leading to the town, where there was a fair every morning. Admittedly, the cook Trevelyan had hired was taking care of their groceries, turning them into tasty meals on a daily basis, but Cassandra wanted to at least keep up the appearances. She would walk around the stands, occasionally buying something extraordinary – every day, numerous ships full of exotic goods were coming ashore in the nearby Ayesleigh, and the vendors travelling inland would often come by the village their villa was in.

At first, Cassandra was surprised at how fast and eager Trevelyan had been to get rid of her family estate in Ostwick. She understood that the place witnessed a tragedy and as such brought forward unpleasant memories, but on the other hand she had been brought up in a tradition demanding that a person held on tight to their heritage. It became clearer when she saw the illustrations meant for the buyers – Trevelyan's heritage was a slightly shabby-looking, wooden fort situated on the top of an ugly hill outside of Ostwick, as well as a few surrounding villages. Said villages allowed them to sell it all quite quickly, thanks to Josephine's invaluable help, of course. She was also the one to show Trevelyan that beautiful villa overlooking the Rialto Bay, and then even helped her buy it. As a consolation gift, the new Divine threw in a couple of fishing villages that were once the Chantry's property.

"This is just the beginning of a serious revision of lands and properties," she had said and sighed heavily, signing her name under the document granting Trevelyan the ownership of the settlements. "But all in good time, yes?"

"I'm ready to help if you need it," Cassandra had announced, unable to get rid of the habit of standing ramrod straight in the presence of the Divine.

"I will be sure to take you up on that offer. You must know, Cassandra, that it will be extremely difficult to introduce certain reforms without destroying the tradition, and to meet the requirements of the position and the factions without losing some ideals in the process. I have always valued your judgement and will surely need it in the future."

"I'll do what I can."

Cassandra had given a stiff bow. Leliana had replied in kind at first, but then grabbed her hand and embraced her. "Give this document to Trevelyan and don't come back to Val Royeaux until after the summer."

The majority of the responsibilities of the leader of the Inquisition was supposed to fall to Cullen, who, unlike Cassandra, enjoyed the Fereldan weather and the mountains, though the thing he liked in Skyhold above all else was probably the freedom to spend his time with Dorian Pavus. Cassandra could not even hold that against him anymore.

"I can see you have your doubts," she had said, in the middle of their farewell breakfast in Val Royeaux. "You shouldn't. I am sure you will do fine, and the Inquisitor and I will be just a letter away."

"Thank you for that vote of confidence," he had said, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. "It's not even only that. You see, I don't like changes. I got used to the Inquisition as it was, and—"

"No one likes changes." Cassandra had given him a powerful pat on the back. "I don’t like them either. But there's a positive side to them sometimes, isn't that right?"

Pavus had waved at her from the other side of the chamber. She had been sorry to bid him goodbye, but, naturally, she couldn't show it.

She was reminded of what Cullen had said when she saw the view from their bedroom for the first time – the perspective was so vast and strange, it took her breath away.

She inspected every stand and finally bought some Rivain sweets. When she got back to the villa, the cook was already preparing breakfast, which they usually consumed on the terrace. She went by the rookery and then finally started heading for the bedroom, her steps ostentatiously loud to signal her arrival.

Trevelyan woke up and sat up, rubbing at her face. "Any correspondence?" she asked.

"No, nothing. It's quiet."

Trevelyan nodded, but a frown appeared again between her eyebrows.

"Are you so eager to hand the Inquisition over to the Divine?" asked Cassandra, somewhat jokingly.

"Not to hand it over. To reform it."

"I know. But it is still a good sign there is no message yet." Cassandra found Trevelyan's hand in the bed sheets. "It means that everything is going according to the plan."

"Is that so?" Trevelyan asked.

Cassandra kissed her, just in case. Outside, the waves were steadily breaking against the shore.

"Definitely."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's it for now! I can't believe I actually finished it. I do hope you have enjoyed it as much as I did (or, ugh, maybe even more than I did, because I really did not realise that there were so many polish words without the exact english equivalents :P). thank you very much for sticking with us, thanks for every kudo(s), bookmark and comment <3 we're over at pentasassed.tumblr.com & blowen-chantren.tumblr.com in case you wanted to chat or something :)


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